Home is Where the Heart
by T'Pring
Summary: Over his objections, John is sent home to recover from a severe concussion. Sure enough, he finds his stay (banishment?) with his brother anything but restful. At least he'll be able to tell Carter "I told you so"... Now complete
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Story takes place just after Daedalus Variations, and comes in response to a couple of plot requests from FFnet friends! One requested that John get sent home to Earth to recover from an injury - so yes, this is yet another Dave Sheppard story! The other request will be obvious as we go and was interesting because it's a "theme" not in my usual repertoire. _

* * *

**Home is Where the Heart...** by T'Pring

_"Don't puke. Whatever you do, don't lose it. John Sheppard does NOT toss cookies for less than a 5__th__ of Scotch."_

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt the Stargate belch him out into the SGC on Earth, but the feeling of dizziness and nausea he'd been expecting hit him despite the precaution. The familiar icepick behind his eyes also flared and he froze, breathing deeply and fighting with all he had not to clutch at his head. Somewhere, through the attack on his sense of three-dimensional space, he was mildly aware of voices murmuring around him and the soft splut of the Stargate as the wormhole collapsed.

"John? Can I help you off the platform?"

The words soaked into his consciousness ever so slowly, but he finally processed the question. And the name belonging to the voice who'd asked it.

"Give me a second, Colonel Carter. I just need a...second."

"Please, call me Sam. You're off duty, remember?"

John felt a shudder ripple across his shoulders and he tensed even further to stop it from reaching his hands.

"About the only thing I do remember," he growled tightly.

Sam, to her credit, gave him the time he asked without pushing, though he did feel her hand around his upper arm. Finally, he blew out a final breath and risked opening his eyes. The SGC's concrete gateroom spun a bit around him, but he was able to squint and keep his eyes open.

Sam stood at his right side, an expression fixed somewhere between amusement and sympathy. It was better than pity, John supposed. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.

"I'll take you to the infirmary," she said, indicating the wheelchair that was waiting at the end of the ramp. John just nodded, resigned, and allowed her to keep her hold on his arm as they walked.

He hated how grateful he was to sit down, but his damn head just couldn't keep up from down straight when he was on his feet. It had been pure stubbornness that got him into the event horizon on Atlantis under his own power. He closed his eyes again and rested his head on his hand as Sam pushed him, slowly, through the halls towards the Infirmary. Even the slow, steady motion set his stomach churning and his head pounding.

When he reached the infirmary, there wasn't much of him left. Somehow, hating every second of concern he heard in his former CO's voice, he managed to get himself out of the chair and onto a waiting infirmary bed. He lay on his back on top of the blankets, a stiff mass of misery until, with a final pat of awkward reassurance, Sam left. Only then did John let himself curl up into a ball and bury his head under his arms. When the world around him and the bed underneath him stopped spinning, he let himself pass out.

* * *

A couple more days passed. At least, he thought it was a couple of days. He spent most of his time either sleeping or trying to choke down and keep down bland food. On the third day since he'd arrived on Earth (the phrase 'banished' kept coming to mind) the SGC docs started giving him something that actually seemed to help.

He was sitting up in his bed, eying the mashed potatoes and blue jello on a tray in front of him when Sam Carter came to visit that evening.

"Hey, good to see you upright, John," she said, genuine pleasure in her voice.

"It's a treat," he retorted, only mildly testy. "Either the meds are finally working or my head is finally healing." He caught a whiff of the potatoes and his stomach churned in protest. He pushed the tray further away. "A little," he added.

"Severe concussion can take a long time to heal completely," Sam stated, sounding pretty darn serious. "And you've got the worst concussion we've seen in the Stargate program that didn't result in traumatic injury. You're lucky your brain didn't leak out your ears. Have you remembered anything about how it actually happened, yet?"

John remembered not to shake his head, but he managed a shrug.

"All I know is what Jennifer speculates – that I whacked my head as we were jumping out of the Lost Daedalus before it jumped to another parallel universe. It was several minutes before Lorne showed up in the jumper. I could have been out cold for half that time without anyone noticing inside that damn spacesuit."

"From what Jennifer says, _you_ didn't notice."

Another shrug. "Until later, yeah. One minute I'm walking out of the infirmary after hanging out with McKay and the next, I'm in the bed next to him with no memory of how I got there. It only got worse from there."

"Well, Dr. Klein says it's getting better from here." Sam patted the bed next to him. "Which is why I'm here. As much as I like having you around to drop in on, the truth is that you can't stay here indefinitely. Both Jennifer and Dr. Klein have recommended at least a month of leave for recovery before we even consider letting you back on duty. We've decided it's time for you to go home for a while. To rest up and get well."

John felt his heart begin to thud and he looked away so Sam wouldn't see the fear in his eyes. If the docs were sending him away, his thin hopes for a miraculous recovery and soft duty on the Daedalus' next run back to Atlantis in two weeks had just been dashed. All he had left to hope for was that he'd get to return to duty _ever_.

"I gave up the apartment I had in Colorado Springs the last time I was here a couple of years ago," he was finally able to ask without his voice shaking. "Do you know if there is any base housing available for temporary assignment?" He was very careful to emphasize the _temporary_ part.

Sam cocked her head as if surprised by the question. "I said _home_. Your brother is expecting you in a couple of days when you're ready to travel, again. He's looking forward to having you stay with him."

John jerked his head towards Sam so fast the room kept going in a spiral behind her. He was so shocked he didn't even care.

"You talked to Dave without asking me first?" he ground out, forcing himself to remember that she outranked him to keep his annoyance in check.

"You've been very ill, John," Sam soothed, but her voice was back to serious. "You're in no condition to live by yourself, even on base. You need someone around to keep an eye on you just in case...you know," she finished awkwardly.

"Jennifer said that the seizures were most likely temporary and I haven't had any since I got to the SGC, Sam," he rasped, embarrassed and angry all at once. Sam's face went so sheepish that he felt his breath catch. "Have I?"

"That fact that you don't even remember makes it all the more concerning. We've explained your condition to your brother. He's promised to hire a live-in visiting nurse to monitor your progress. And he says there's staff on site all day, every day even when he can't be there personally. Sounds like a nice place, your family home."

John's embarrassment grew even further at the admiration in her voice. He'd spent his whole life running away from his father's money. It galled him that Dave was waving it around in his CO's face, now.

"I, um, appreciate the effort, Colonel, but I'll make other arrangements." He didn't know what the hell they would be, but anything was better than giving Dave the satisfaction of seeing him _weak_.

"I'm sorry. It's been arranged. Your brother is expecting you."

"Sam!"

"We need you, Colonel," she barked, startling him with the sharpness of her voice, so that he snapped his mouth shut. "We need you back on Atlantis doing what you do so well. That means we expect you to take every advantage available to heal as quickly and safely as possible. And _that_ means sucking it up for a month at home. David Sheppard has offered you care that, honestly, is much more than you'd get on government benefits. He's assured me that he'll provide you with anything you need for a full recovery."

"_You_ talked to him?" The thought that Sam would personally go to the trouble was both flattering and somehow annoying.

"I did. He's a perfectly nice man," she answered firmly with a hint of amusement twinkling in her eyes. "If a bit arrogant," she added after a beat and John, defeated, couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"You have no idea," he sighed.

"I have _some_ idea," she shot back with a pointed tilt to her head and pure mischief in her tone. John just closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, now dreading the next month of his life even more than before – and that was saying something. Sam gave his arm a firm squeeze. "Don't worry. I'm sure your disability is only temporary. You'll be back on Atlantis giving Woolsey conniptions before you know it."

John just nodded, his throat suddenly too constricted to speak. Sam gave him one last squeeze and left quietly, leaving John alone in the bare, stark infirmary for the moment. He suddenly wished that Sam had stayed around longer. Or never come at all. He definitely wished she hadn't said what she'd said, though he knew her intentions were good.

Because, speaking the fear out loud only made it worse.

* * *

John was annoyed when they assigned him an escort for the trip. He was even more annoyed when Carter and the doctors briefed said escort about his "travel and post-release" instructions like he wasn't sitting there in front of them, listening to every word.

Sam at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it and she made it a point to hang back once the sandy haired and overly serious Lt. Conaway had left with John's bags to check on their transportation to the Denver airport. Commercial flight, no less, which only added insult to injury.

"John? Remember the suck-it-up part?" was all she said after he finally met her steady gaze. She sat on the edge of the infirmary bed he'd spent the last week lying in but the wheelchair he currently occupied didn't feel like much of an upgrade. The opposite, in fact. At least in the bed, he could pretend he was just taking it easy because that's how you got back on your feet faster.

"I don't know if I can..." he trailed off, frustration heating his cheeks.

"Can what?" Sam prompted softly.

"How am I supposed to relax if I've got to be on guard the whole damn month?" he snapped finally.

"On guard?"

"Against _him_. Against my brother. Sam, I _left home_," he threw air quotes around the last two words, "fifteen years ago because I wasn't welcome. Why should I go back now?"

Sam watched him with steady regard. "Because you need his help. Because he wants you to come. Maybe this is a chance for you to mend some fences."

John shook his head, then had to squeeze his eyes shut to wait out the dizziness and flash of pain. "I don't want him to see me like this," he growled. "Showing up as an invalid will only..." again he trailed off.

"Only what?" Sam asked, patient as ever.

"Only prove them right."

Sam was quiet for a long time, but John didn't open his eyes, though the dizziness had passed, leaving only the thick fuzziness that he knew was the drugs.

"Every family I've ever dealt with has been more than proud of their sons and daughters who have been injured while serving. I think, just maybe, your brother isn't the same person you left fifteen years ago. Give him a chance. Give _yourself_ a chance to show them what your service means. Maybe you'll find that, I don't know, that being family is enough."

"Enough for what?" he spat.

"Enough," she answered firmly. "Your ride is here. John, I don't really want to pull rank, but I expect you to follow this one order: Get Well. Do what you have to do to recover. And I know how hard that order might be to follow, so don't disappoint me."

There was a pause and John knew she expected him to acknowledge, but he couldn't do it. Not when every instinct in his body was screaming that this was wrong. Not when every nightmare he'd ever had was unfolding before him. He heard a resigned sigh.

"Then at least try. That I can ask as a friend. Good luck, John."

And with that she left.

The ride to the airport was excruciating. Not because of pain – they'd drugged him to the gills for the trip – because serious Lt. Conaway kept staring at him like he was about to roll onto the floor of the rent-a-limo and start frothing at the mouth at any minute.

"You flying all the way to Maryland just to babysit me?" John asked at last when the painful silence was louder than the constant ache behind his eyes.

"No, sir. I was heading east anyway."

"Lucky you," John snorted.

"Yes, sir! I volunteered," Conaway replied fervently.

"In that case...thank you," John murmured, suddenly unable to dislike the young man for simply being there. He closed his eyes and no longer worried that doing so would freak the lieutenant out.

Getting through airport security and to the gate was uneventful. John simply chose to ignore the stares and surreptitious glances of sympathetic civilians as Lt. Conaway paved the way with a professional urgency that John finally pegged.

"You're JAG, aren't you?" he blurted as they sat beside the gate waiting to board. Conaway's lips twitched into the first smile John had seen.

"That's what it says on my patch," Conaway teased bringing a flush of embarrassment to John's cheek. They were both in uniform. He should have known that. He just couldn't remember…looking for it. "It's OK, sir. You've got a lot on your mind. I've spent quite a lot of time on the paperwork for your _unit_," he added, coyly, clearly enjoying having a secret out in public. "If you ever need any help on base, I would love to visit _there_."

The man's enthusiasm was genuine, but John suddenly felt grumpy. Probably because he really wanted to be _there_, too.

"Next time the Wraith and Replicators and dimension hopping death ships take a day off for me to catch up on paperwork, I'll give you a call. Or maybe I'll just shoot myself in the foot, instead."

Conaway looked disturbed and John felt a little bad about being such an ass. But he didn't really care. His head was throbbing and he felt himself squinting more and more as the airport around him began to whirl faster by the minute. It was too noisy, and he was moving too much for his abused brain to compensate. The walk from the end of the gate into the plane was excruciating and he was breathing hard and swallowing back nausea again for the first time in a few days.

It took everything he had to grind out a simple "thank you" when the perky flight attendant who was settling them in gave him a pillow and thanked him "for his service". He put the pillow against the window and gulped for air like a fish out of water. A wall of white pain flashed behind his eyes and he was asleep before the plane thrust itself off the runway.

He awoke briefly in a fog, aware that there was activity around him and voices that sounded urgent. He pushed himself upright in the uncomfortable, despite being 1st class, seat. When he opened his eyes, the plane spun so violently around him that he gagged before he got a handle on the nausea and slammed his eyes shut. A female voice in the seat next to him was speaking urgently to another voice, also female that John thought he recognized as the flight attendant.

"Could we have some water please? And another blanket."

"Of course, are you sure you don't want us to redirect the plane?" The attendant said, sounding panicky in a responsible sort of way.

"There's no need. We're not far. The Colonel's seizures are not life-threatening, just uncomfortable. I suspect the altitude change as we descend is exacerbating his condition."

"Conaway?" John croaked, confused by the female voice in the seat where his escort should be. He couldn't seem to stop shaking, though he was holding his own on sitting up.

"I'm here, sir. Just sit tight. We land in half an hour. You'll be home soon. Would you like your anti-nausea medicine?" replied the female voice, only confusing him more.

"Where's Conaway?" he demanded.

"I'm here, sir," the voice answered patiently. John cracked open his eyes and concentrated on focusing through the dizziness. A female soldier with a JAG patch and Lieutenant's bars was in the seat. She had sandy red hair, just like Conaway, looked the same age, and had similar features. It was like someone had sneaked onto the plane and stuffed Conaway's sister into his uniform. The imposter was holding out the familiar pill, shaking it slightly like one does to entice a dog to take a treat.

"Put this under your tongue. It will help right away. Then you'll be more comfortable for the rest of the descent."

John reached out, desperate for the medicine, but extremely wary. His hands shook so hard, he could hardly get them where he wanted them go. The woman noticed him struggling. Everything seemed foggy, like there was a bright light in his face that was blurring out his vision.

"You've had a mild seizure, sir. I'm sure you feel pretty bad. But you'll feel better once we land. You looking forward to seeing your family? I heard they're planning a party for you when you arrive. Something about old friends in a townhouse?"

John felt himself shudder even harder. Whoever she was, she also sounded just like Conaway, though _what_ she said didn't make any sense. He'd been told he was going to the Ranch where Dave lived these days. He put the pill under his tongue and leaned away from her. He stuck his hands under his armpits to control the shaking.

"What's your name, lieutenant?" he snapped at last when she didn't seem to be planning to offer an explanation. His voice sounded faint, even to himself.

"Lt. Conaway. I'm escorting you to Maryland to meet your family." Her expression finally showed the first hint of concern, though her tone was as patient as ever. The plane took a dip and John felt the altitude change sear through his head.

"What happened to... to the other Conaway," he gasped out, wincing, but forcing himself to keep his eyes open. The fake Conaway chewed her lip, as if deciding how to answer.

"No Conaways besides me around here, sir. I have a twin brother back home, though."

Another dip and John slammed his eyes closed. White sparks were floating at the edge of his internal vision. He felt Conaway's hands on his shoulder, and his teeth began to chatter he was shaking so hard.

"Hang in there, Colonel Sheppard," she soothed, sounding sympathetic. "Hang in there."

He did for as long as he could, but the white sparks flashed, and he could no longer concentrate on anything but fighting the disorientation. He wouldn't just let himself pass out, this time, though. He needed to remember something important. He didn't feel...safe.

It seemed forever before the throbbing, pulsing pain and dizziness subsided. Once it did, he allowed himself to just sit still and gather his composure. It seemed quieter, somehow. The hum of the airplane's engines was gone. Without moving, he peeked through hooded lids. The dizziness was much better so he took a deep breath and sat up straighter to look around.

A wall of silent, concerned faces greeted him. The perky flight attendant hovered behind two decked out EMTs. Lieutenant Conaway, the _real_ Conaway, was in the seat next to him, a hand on John's arm. The young man's face flashed enormous relief when John turned to give him a solid glare.

"Welcome back, sir," Conaway murmured.

"What the hell happened?" John demanded. He was no longer shuddering, and now that his head wasn't splitting open from altitude changes, he felt about as good as he got these days.

"You seized on the descent into Maryland, Colonel," Conaway answered.

"I meant what the hell happened to you? Where did you go? Where's the 'other' Lt. Conaway?" John started to twist in his seat to look for the mysterious female look-alike, but stopped abruptly when his head flashed a warning. The real Conaway had that serious look again and didn't answer for a long time.

"I've been here the whole time, sir. You've been unresponsive for the past fifteen minutes. You slept the whole flight before that."

This time John's confusion was mixed with doubt rather than alarm. His memory seemed to be whirling as badly as his vision.

"Why are they here?" he growled, at last, flopping a hand at the EMTs who looked like they were itching to pounce on him.

"Pilot called ahead, got us bumped up the list for landing and had them waiting for us. Passengers went out the back. We've just been chilling out, waiting for your head to catch up with your body, sir."

"So now what?" John was waiting for the punch line – for someone to crack up and admit to the joke. Though it wasn't funny. At all.

"When you're ready, we'll get you to the car that should be waiting for us. With luck, you'll be home by dinner."

"I'm never likely to _be_ ready," John groused. Conaway cocked his head.

"Do you want to go to the hospital, sir? You _were_ out of it for a pretty long time."

"No, no, lieutenant. That's not what I meant."

John flopped against the seat, gathering his strength, and perhaps his courage. Then, Carter's orders ringing in his ears, he took a deep breath and shoved his hands into the armrests, preparing to push himself to his feet.

"Fine. Let's just say I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Lieutenant. Let's go."

Conaway scurried and the EMTs hovered as he worked his way slowly off the plane.

"Might as well get it over with," he whispered, just to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Jane set her suitcase down and juggled her coffee and clipboard to be able to push the doorbell of the huge, beautiful house she stood in front of. She didn't know what she was expecting when the stained-glass inlaid door opened – most of her usual assignments were modest people living in modest to poor homes – but a harried type-A Suit with a glass of orange juice in his hand wasn't on the list. He was tall, thin, with short wavy hair over a high forehead and square jaw. He was dressed in dark business suit slacks and a white button-down shirt that looked like it would crack it was so crisp.

The Suit stared at her distractedly for a long moment.

"I'm Jane Lammerford from Home Health. I'm the visiting nurse you requested?"

"Of course," The Suit said, recognition blooming in his eyes. "I've been expecting you. My brother won't be here until this evening so you have the day to set up and get settled. Come in. I'll show you to your room."

Jane watched him turn and stride purposefully back into the house, amused, until she realized he wasn't slowing down, so she snatched for her suitcase, slopping coffee on the paperwork. She must have cussed – it was a bad habit – because The Suit whirled, his expression just this side of annoyed, and walked just as quickly back to the door.

"My apologies," he said, sounding sympathetic, if not contrite. "I am a little distracted this morning. Work is hectic, without the added complication of all this." He waved at Jane and her suitcase to punctuate the last, but before Jane's hackles went up, The Suit managed a pleasant expression, snatched up her suitcase and gestured her in with a broad sweep of his hand. "Please, come in."

She followed as directed, summing up the encounter as "at least not the worst introduction she'd ever had". She also decided the guy was someone used to getting his way, and that he was a bit arrogant – as if the two didn't go together.

Jane kept her head on a swivel to catch everything as they crossed an impossibly beautiful living room towards a long hallway lined with family pictures in old fashioned frames. As much as she was enjoying the rubbernecking, she still took a quick inventory of amenities, making note of challenges she and her patient would face. The bedroom that The Suit led her to was on the main floor, no stairs. That was good, as long as the patient was on the ground floor, too. Bathroom was also off the hallway and a quick peek inside revealed both an enormous tub and a walk-in shower. Excellent. Shower for woozy patient. Tub for her!

Her guide beckoned her into a guest room that could have been the Ritz hotel, for all she knew. She stood for a moment, thinking she'd never slept in such a beautiful room in her life when The Suit chuffed and jerked an arm at the bed.

"I hope this will be OK. John's room is the next one down, so you'll be close by. This one looks out on the patio and has a nicer view than the room across the hall, not to mention a bit more light. We normally put guests upstairs in the guest suite so I apologize for that. I wasn't sure John would be up to walking the stairs." He stopped, another flicker of annoyance crossing his face – as if _all this_ was ruining his usual hosting routine on purpose. Jane upgraded "used to getting his way" to "control freak".

"This will be great," Jane said firmly. "John is the patient I'll be monitoring? As in Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, Air Force?" It was always a good idea to confirm the paperwork.

"Yes. Yes, John is my brother. He's on leave to recover from a severe concussion and his doctors and commander strongly advised that he not be left alone. I have to come and go for work, though I'm working from here today and tomorrow to help him get settled in." Again she heard the ever so slight tone of exasperation and she forced herself to keep from bristling.

"My information says the patient is also experiencing post-concussive seizures?"

The man suddenly wilted, his shoulders slumped. The transformation was so sudden, the posture so _vulnerable_ that Jane's growing dislike was abruptly derailed. She forced herself to remember that everyone reacted differently to stress and that it was her job to care for the whole family, not just the patient. It was the part of her job that was sometimes the hardest, especially when the family were acting like dicks.

"That's what I understand. I believe your agency spoke directly with his doctors, so you probably know more than I do." The Suit sounded more pathetic than dickish, however, when he answered her question.

"Then I'll make sure the charts I brought look complete. I'd also like to perform a preliminary exam when the patient arrives, so I can compare what's on paper with what I see, and to give me a baseline going forward."

"Of course," the man nodded, then fell silent. He stared at her as he had at the front door, his glass of juice still forgotten in his hand. "I haven't introduced myself, have I?" he said at last. Jane grinned and shook her head.

"I'm David. David Sheppard. I'm the one who called your agency. And thank you for coming. I am grateful to have someone who knows what they're doing around to watch out for John." He shuddered slightly, his guard still down. "His doctors were quite _serious_ about his condition."

"Any head injury is serious," Jane agreed. "And a severe concussion can have consequences long beyond the initial event. I've brought some research on the subject to brush up on. Do you know if the patient will be mobile or bed-bound?"

"I don't know. They said he was able to take care of the basics," David reddened slightly and rushed on, "but also that he was still sleeping a lot."

"Sleeping is good. OK, I'll settle in here, I guess. I don't do a lot of sleepover assignments, so let me know what you expect. I don't want to tread on anyone's toes or get annoying."

David smiled, his confidence returning as they returned to subjects he had more control over. "I expect you to make yourself at home. I mean that. Enjoy the house. Use the grounds. The staff will have meals ready at 6:30, 12:30, and 6:30. Drink what you want except for the bottles on the bottom shelf in the wine cellar." He winked, though the gesture was more haughty than friendly. "Those are for sharing only, so if you want one, you have to come and get me."

"Thank you, Mr. Sheppard. I'm sure I'll get along just fine."

David's expression went distracted again – The Suit was back. "Just take care of my brother. He hasn't been home in a long time."

"I'll do my best."

David nodded and strolled away again without saying goodbye and Jane chuckled to herself. She put her suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed and looked out the window at the patio and pool and rolling hills of pasture. She could almost imagine she was staying at a resort instead of a client's if she let herself. She promised not to let herself. As pretty as this place was, the fact of the assignment was that she was there to babysit a banged up Lt. Colonel – who probably didn't need or want her help - to make his richie brother feel better.

No, the best thing was to enjoy the cushy accommodations only as far as they got her through the brass management that was going to consume her next week or so. Then she could get back to helping veterans who really needed it. She unpacked, wandered around the property, even swam a few laps in the pool. It was heated. Go figure.

At 5:00, the house seemed to get noisier and David Sheppard appeared from wherever he'd been working through the day to prowl restlessly around the main floor. When a black sedan pulled into the drive, he tugged on his sleeves, lifted his chin and sauntered out the front door.

Jane took a deep breath and positioned herself in the living room – not so close as to seem like she intended to pounce on the Colonel, but close enough to watch him come in. She spread her feet and folded her arms behind her back.

"Let's get this over with," she whispered, just to herself.

* * *

The further he got from the airport, the better John felt. Perhaps it was the saturated smell of jet fuel that nauseated him, or simply the relief of having that part of his trip behind him, but he was almost able to relax in the cushy luxury sedan seats as they left the city and pulled out into the suburbs. Once or twice, he even peeked out the window before having to close his eyes again – the fast moving scenery was still a bit much to ask his poor brain to process.

His anxiety, however, grew as his stomach settled. Once Conaway dropped him at the Ranch, he was cut off. Alone. At the mercy of someone he didn't know. At a house that hadn't been home since he was eighteen. When the car pulled into the long drive that led to the front door, something close to panic tightened in his chest.

"You feeling OK, sir?" the ever vigilant Conaway asked for the sixty-third time that day.

"Great. Peachy. Never better," John groused and Conaway looked bemused.

"Colonel Carter said this might be the hardest part," he admitted at last. "She told me to wait until now to tell you that if you can _suck it up_ – her words, sir, not mine – for two weeks that she'd send someone from the SGC to visit you and evaluate your progress. If you're making verifiable improvement, she'll recommend a transfer back to Peterson for your last two weeks of R&R."

John felt himself smiling for the first time in weeks. "She really said that?"

"Yes. She did say the offer was contingent upon the report from your local doctors or onsite nurse, or whoever, but that if it motivated you to really rest and really make an effort to relax, having you underfoot for a couple extra weeks was worth the hassle."

Conaway was grinning and John was too happy at the thought of cutting his imprisonment in half to worry about what might happen if he didn't improve. Carter was right, damn her, it was motivation. And he intended to take advantage of it.

When the sedan finally stopped, he no longer felt panicky, though his heart raced a bit when Dave came strolling out the front door to hover by the car like a damn pompous peacock. Conaway pocketed the phone he'd been playing games on and threw John an encouraging look.

"That your brother?"

"Yeah."

Conaway nodded, then shoved himself out of the car to greet Dave with a firm handshake and the most serious courtesy. Between them, they hustled the driver to unload his bags and John just waited. Conaway finally returned and opened John's door. The Lieutenant offered his hand, slightly, but didn't grab and John was grateful that the man was astute enough to give John a chance to stand without help. He did so, slowly, but he managed, bracing himself against the open door casually, he hoped.

"I'll just see you to the door," Conaway murmured with a sidelong look at Dave who was standing a few paces away, looking nervous and sour all at the same time.

"Thanks," John breathed, recognizing the gesture for what it was – a few last moments of friendly companionship before Conaway had to cut the rope. He caught the lieutenant's serious, concerned look. "Don't worry, Conaway. I'm a big boy. I can handle big brother," he teased.

"Of course, sir."

Once he started moving, Dave rushed ahead to wave someone from inside the house and towards the bags still sitting on the drive and then held the door open for John. Conaway stopped at the threshold, held out his hand and John took it in a firm shake.

"I hope you feel better soon, sir. They need you back at home."

"Carter tell you to say that?" John groused, though he softened the complaint with a grin.

"No, sir!" Conaway replied firmly. John's grin warmed into genuine gratitude. Conaway nodded, serious as ever, jogged back to the car and plopped in. The Sedan tooled away.

Dave gave a polite, impatient cough, still holding the door, so John took a last, deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into a house he'd sworn he'd never set foot inside twenty-four years ago. It was only after Dave had shut the door behind him that John realized what Conaway had said: Home was Atlantis. This wasn't and didn't have to be home. He just had to bunk here for a while. He'd spent two nights in a wraith hive prison. Surely he could handle Dave's.

* * *

Jane fidgeted, feeling like a servant on call. Though she'd talked with several members of the house staff that day and they were all bright, interesting, and well-compensated people, she couldn't shake the sense of being in an English Manor two centuries before her time. She'd grown up in an apartment in Baltimore and the idea of having someone besides your momma or yourself do the dishes was as foreign to her as having more than one bottle of wine in your fridge.

Then there was the Colonel. Would he be a spoiled silver spoon who'd had his career arranged for him by the wealth she stood within, a military flipside of the Suit's family coin? She saw the butler scurry down the hallway laden with a pair of Air Force duffel bags and she knew it wouldn't surprise her if that were the case.

The second the Colonel hit the door, however, she knew she was wrong. Most everything she'd assumed about Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was wrong, in fact.

First was the way he entered – like a forward scout entering a known insurgent's lair rather than a son returning to a childhood home. He moved with an athlete's grace, his stride a fluid prowl. She felt her lips twitch with amusement when his eyes flicked to all four corners of the living room, clearing the space before he faced David. She knew he'd seen her, he'd just decided she wasn't a threat. He was no desk jockey.

As far as looks, she never would have picked these two off the street as brothers. The Colonel was dressed in uniform, simple and utilitarian and he looked comfortable in it, a stark contrast to the impeccable and expensive suit his brother wore. His hair was dark, straight, and rakish and he looked younger than his rank suggested. He was shorter than his brother, but even though his face was thin from the recent effects of illness and injury, he was more solid and there was no deference to the inches his brother held over him.

Then there was the polite, firm but not too long, hand shake. Both brothers wore postures of awkward civility and she saw that there was no warmth between them. Familiarity at best, tolerance at least. The line about not being home in a long time must have been truer than she'd assumed. He was no silver spoon, propped up by the family.

David shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, choosing haughty over the Colonel's wary.

"It's good to see you, John," David said at last. "I've, well, I've been worried about you since your Command called last week."

"Yeah, sorry about that. They weren't supposed to do that," The Colonel answered, sounding wry.

"Weren't supposed to do what?"

"Bother you. Make you worry. I'm fine, really. I just need a place to crash for a couple of weeks before the docs sign me off for duty. I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

Jane tilted her head. A patient's self-diagnosis was a hint of sorts of what kind of patient he was likely to be – the stubborn kind or the compliant kind, and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was lying through his teeth. His fists were clenched at his side, and the man's body got stiffer with every second he stood in the living room making small talk. He was hurting and trying his damnedest not to show it.

"The Air Force said a month and it's no trouble, really," David went on, sounding wooden and forced to Jane's ear. "I didn't get to see you much when you were here for Dad's funeral. I'm looking forward to catching up."

The Colonel's eyes went even tighter and Jane saw his hand touch his temple, then abruptly drop again. He was going white as a sheet, but the determined set of his jaw told her that he'd rather pass out on the floor rather than ask to sit down. She fidgeted, the caregiver in her itching to intervene, the part that understood what it meant to be a soldier holding her back.

"Sure. Me too," the Colonel growled and left it at that. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. He swayed slightly, took a slight step and steadied himself, but David seemed not to notice.

"I was thinking you'd enjoy staying in your old room."

"Not really, but that's fine."

"If you'd rather, you could stay – ."

"Dave, it's fine. Thanks for putting me up. I mean that. But don't go to any trouble. I just need a place to sleep."

Jane was certain there was a hint of longing in the man's voice, so she coughed and made a show of situating the stethoscope around her neck, hoping to draw David's attention. It worked. David smiled broadly, looking relieved for something to do and crossed the room, drawing the Colonel along with him.

"John let me introduce you to Jane Lammerford from Home Health Services. She's going to stay onsite to provide you with any help you might need during your stay."

Jane was a bit surprised that David remembered her name, he'd seemed so distracted this morning when she'd given it, but she smiled warmly to put her patient at ease and stuck out her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Colonel."

"Likewise," he answered succinctly, though his tone was genuine and she suspected his brevity was due to his obvious discomfort rather than dislike. He managed a wan smile and gave her the courtesy of his full attention as he returned the handshake. That was a relief. She'd had patients who resented her presence, and some were Asses because of it. This man just looked like he wanted to lie down.

He had lovely eyes, she decided, but the tremor in his hand shored up her resolve to get him some relief. She turned to her employer.

"Mr. Sheppard, I apologize for interrupting your reunion, but I need to do that initial exam we talked about. Colonel, would you mind following me to your room where we can speak in private?"

The look of boyish terror on the Colonel's face was almost cute, but he forced a lopsided grin and shrugged. David just seemed pleased.

"Excellent. I have a few more items of business to finish before dinner. John, I hope you'll feel up to joining us, but if you don't, meals can easily be sent to your room. Ms. Lammerford, I will leave John to your care."

"Please, it's Jane. And thank you."

"John," David murmured and left with a slap to the Colonel's arm that was surprisingly affectionate, if a bit awkward.

"This way, Colonel."

"If I have to call you Jane, then you'd better call me John," he answered, following her into the hall towards the beautiful bedrooms. "Between us, we're a homicide investigation."

Jane whipped her head around to scrutinize the man's face. She saw only fatigue and amusement that was infectious.

"As long as your last name isn't Doe, I'm not concerned."

He smiled, the expression transforming his face from wariness to charm. Definitely lovely eyes she found herself thinking again. At the threshold to his room, he stopped abruptly, his body so suddenly tense that she caught herself reaching for his arm, afraid that he was working towards a seizure that his doctors were so concerned about.

Instead, he just seemed lost in his own thoughts as he stared at the doorframe.

"Colonel?" she pressed, still concerned.

"John," he whispered. "Call me John."

"John, can I help?" she asked, not knowing what was wrong. The look he gave her was closed, panicked rather than pained.

"Not with this," he sighed, slumping abruptly. And as if the moment had never happened, he walked through and sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the edge with white knuckles.

Jane followed, but stopped just inside the door, giving him a once-over. Definitely better now that he was sitting, she decided.

"Are you due for any medications?" she asked, the question partly sincere, mostly a test.

"Pain killers. In my bag," he growled and closed his eyes, clearly fighting to stay upright.

"Headache?" she prompted as she began to rummage through the duffels that were sitting on the bench at the end of the bed.

"Splitting."

Interesting. She'd had him pegged as the stoic, denial type. Especially after that performance for his brother. She finally found the plastic bag of orange pill bottles, a prescription and directions included with each. She tucked the whole bag under her arm while she tapped out two of the painkillers he'd asked for.

"No wine for you," she said handing him the pills along with a glass of water from the pitcher that the house staff had obligingly provided at her request earlier in the day.

"Oh, darn," he muttered sarcastically before taking a large gulp of the water. He eyed her through squinted lids, "I'm more of a beer guy."

"No beer for you," she retorted just as firmly.

"Scotch?"

"On the rocks, please. But you're a teetotaler until further notice." John chuckled, the sound a weary chuff and Jane grinned. "I'm going to go sort through the meds, make sure I understand your regimen, but you're on your own for taking them unless you want me to remind you?"

"No."

"Great. I'm in the next room over, just call out if you need help. Come by if you need anything else."

His hairy eyeball went calculating. "No exam?"

Jane grinned. "That can wait until you're more comfortable." She shook the pill bottle, but must have given something away because he went all surprised and grateful. He had the most expressive face – she'd have to play poker with him. She'd bet money he was a terrible bluffer.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome. Get some rest. I'm sure you've had a hell of a day."

He just nodded, wilting visibly before her eyes. She waved goodbye and made a hasty exit so he could collapse in private. She'd known guys in the field who would refuse to pass out until they were alone, even with half their leg blown off. Letting an exhausted Colonel catch a few winks away from Suit big brothers and busy-body nurses was just common courtesy.

Back in her room, she settled herself cross-legged in the middle of the enormous four-poster bed and started reading the 'scripts. There was some interesting stuff, here. She wasn't a neurologist, but some of the doctor's choices were _unusual_.

The sound of a deep sigh and then slow, steady breaths drifted to her through the baby monitor she'd hidden in his room earlier in the day. The deceit was standard practice when the patient suffered from a condition such as seizures that could result in his not being able to call out for help. And it also made her look good.

Eventually, she found herself looking out the window again, thinking. The home was beautiful and she had high hopes the patient was going to be compliant. She'd have to keep an eye on him – he was definitely on the weak side, and he knew it. And she knew that would frustrate him. In fact, he was more like her twenty-something medical discharge patients than she would have expected from his rank. He saw field duty, she was certain of that. He was in too good a shape, his combat instincts were too sharp to suggest anything else - she'd seen him turn his chest and watched his hand twitch at his thigh when he'd passed the open doors on the way to his room.

But the wariness was also interesting, if a little sad. He clearly didn't feel comfortable here. A man who expected enemies lurking behind bathroom doors wasn't a man who was "at home". She found herself curious about the Sheppard brothers and the rift between them and then quickly squashed it. It was one of the hazards of her job; getting curious could lead to getting close.

And that was right out.


	3. Chapter 3

The Colonel slept through dinner and Jane was forced to endure David's sour looks as she explained why she didn't recommend waking him. She would have been pissed at his annoyance until his façade cracked again, and he let slip that he'd had John's favorite meal prepared and she again realized that the annoyance was really disappointment and worry.

"Tell you what," Jane decided, realizing that she was in a position to help the man gain some caregiving sensitivity. "Have your chef set aside a small plate for Colonel Sheppard and when he wakes up, I'll see if he feels like joining you in the kitchen to eat it."

David nodded, placated and even looking a little hopeful. She turned to leave when David reached out to brush her arm. "Is John really OK?" he asked, hesitantly. "He said he's fine and then…"

_All this, _Jane added in her own head_._

"He's suffered a very serious injury. But from what little I saw, he is about where I'd expect him to be at this stage in recovery. He needs rest and sleep. The rest will sort itself out."

"Good. Just…good. I'm terrible at this," he added sheepishly.

"Nobody's good at it naturally. Just try to remember he's frustrated, too. He seems like an active guy. I'm sure lying around is just as annoying for him. More so."

David nodded, wide-eyed, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. "Let me know when he wakes up, whether he feels like eating or not. I'll be in my office."

The Colonel sawed logs until nearly nine o'clock and Jane was getting sleepy herself when rustles and soft grunts started coming out of the monitor. She scurried to the Colonel's door and tapped loudly, then opened it and tapped again.

"Sorry to wake you, Colonel, but it's late and you need to eat something today."

"Didn't wake me," he slurred from his sprawl on the bed where he'd never even bothered to get under the covers. "Was just waking up myself."

_Score one for the baby monitor_, she thought with a private grin. "They've saved some dinner for you. Do you feel like walking to the kitchen to eat it?" She kept the question casual, not hinting at the drama the meal had caused.

"Tell you in a minute," he grunted. "Give me five."

"OK."

She waited in her room, heard him shuffle to the bathroom, then looked up to find him hovering awkwardly at her door.

"I could eat," he said looking pleased by the announcement.

"Head feel better?"

"No, but I'll live."

"Any nausea?"

"Better than usual."

"Good. David wanted to join you. Is it alright if I tell him you're on your way?"

The fleeting look of pleasure faltered, to be replaced by resignation. "Sure," he answered. She was rapidly learning that "sure" meant "hell no, but I don't really have a choice, do I?" She filed the intel away.

"Hey, you going to join us?" The desperation in his voice twisted at her conscience, but she just gave him a warm smile and shook her head.

"I ate earlier, but thank you." And she scurried off. It wasn't her job to help this man connect with his estranged family, but she felt a tug of sympathy. It sucked being ill, and sucked even more when you were alone. Most of the families she worked with were poor, working class folks, but they were families. It was unusual for a patient to attach to her so quickly. She'd have to be careful.

* * *

John watched Jane stride away, her motion purposeful, her shoulders back and her chin high. She reminded him a little of Cadman, in mannerism if not looks. Jane was younger than him, but not by more than a decade, thin but strong, with medium length, straight brown hair that she wore in a messy bunch mashed against her head with a clip. But there was a grittiness, a distance that the lighthearted Cadman hadn't kept that was curious. He'd feared for a grey-haired, matronly nurse with cold hands so Jane was a relief.

His empty stomach growled and he marveled at the feeling of hunger. It had been weeks since he'd felt hungry without nausea coming along to ruin it. He hated thinking it, but maybe coming here was a good idea after all.

Driven by hunger, he wandered (slowly, his head still hurt after all), through the living room towards the kitchen. It was a strange combination of familiar and completely unfamiliar. His father and David had re-decorated the home since the last time John had spent any time here, but he spotted an occasional object that he recognized – the wooden globe on an end table, antique tools that supposedly belonged to family members who'd founded the original Jamestown settlement.

Dave had banished the dark, brooding pictures of Sheppard Patriarchs to the hallway walls, which made the walk to his room a bit intimidating, but John rather liked not having them glaring at him from every room in the house. As a kid, he'd felt like he was constantly being watched by disapproving professors – or perhaps that was because he was usually up to something he shouldn't.

The kitchen was completely remodeled, and, consequently, more comfortable than anywhere he'd yet been. There was a small, four-person butcher-block table and chairs in a window-filled nook that overlooked the stables. John was certain that addition was Dave's – their father had insisted upon being served at the formal dining table for all meals, even breakfast. But John and Dave, both, had spent many hours in the kitchen on stools by the chopping island chatting up the cooks and finagling snacks as only teenage boys can.

The place was shut down for the night, the counters and utensils all gleaming and put away, the staff all gone home. John was just considering raiding the fridge when Dave bustled in.

"John! I'm so glad you're feeling up to walking about. Have a seat. Marc saved you a plate. I'll go warm it up for you."

John was shaky enough, even after the short walk that he did as told. He decided it was worth it to watch Dave bustle about, nuking food and piling cheese and crackers on a plate. John's father would never have set foot in the kitchen to fix something – even a plate of cheese and crackers. He suddenly liked his brother a lot more than five minutes ago.

He waited, amused, until Dave presented John with the meal as if he'd cooked it himself and then sat down to open a bottle of wine for himself.

"Thanks," John murmured before digging into the leftovers - steak and roasted potatoes, his favorite. "This is great," he added around a mouthful. Dave beamed and seemed to relax. John suddenly realized that his brother looked as exhausted as he felt.

"Long day?" John prompted, giving Dave a chance to talk, though the silence was comfortable. Dave sighed.

"Very. There's a lot going on at Dad's company," he started, then stopped himself. "But you aren't interested in any of that," he finished then looked away to poke at the crackers.

John bristled, then scoffed at the feeling. He _didn't_ care about the business. So why did Dave's comment bug him? Probably because Dave had just assumed. Like his father had just assumed John _would_ be interested, back when living under his father's roof meant having no dreams of your own.

"You dating anyone?" John asked abruptly, out of desperation to distract himself and then he almost choked on his steak at his daring. Dave stared for a long moment, then grinned. And then he was snorting with laughter until John couldn't help grin back in relief.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he answered at last, his expression smug.

"She hot?" John asked with a wag of his eyebrows. He sort of remembered having this same conversation the first time Dave came home from college.

"Super model," Dave retorted, looking _extremely_ smug. And then he gigged. "Not really. She's beautiful, though. CEO of a company bigger than mine out of Chicago. We've been together about five years now."

John just stared. "Really? You going to marry her?"

For some reason the notion made John uneasy and he didn't know why. But Dave just chuckled again and shook his head.

"Not anytime soon. We see each other at conferences, a weekend every month or so, a couple of weeks of vacation each year. Our jobs keep us both really busy and our careers are rewarding. But we talk every day on the phone. I…couldn't make it through the week without that." The admission was quiet and sincere and John flopped back in his chair, as if he'd just met his brother for the first time.

"I'll be damned. I mean, that's great. I'm happy for you," he said, and meant it.

David nodded, even more relaxed. "And you? You dating anyone?" Dave's eyebrow waggle was just as suggestive, but John just squirmed.

"Nothing serious. A date here and there. Mostly…there."

"Ah," Dave smirked. "Don Juan of the skies is feeling his age, perhaps?"

"I'm damn busy! I'm in command of a whole damn base, you know!" John snapped, irked, until Dave snorted like a teenager and he realized that the taunt was merely the 40-year-old version of high school.

"I know," Dave confessed. "I'm just yanking your chain." His expression went thoughtful, and he chewed his lip as he studied John. "Actually, I _don't_ know. I have no idea what you do, John, or even where. _Do_ you still fly?"

John recognized the question as sincere. He knew deep down that Dave wasn't prying, just curious. Any other time in his life, he'd have been thrilled for the curiosity – no one in his family had wondered about what John did since he'd quit the debate team in 8th grade and gone out for football.

But tonight, all John could think of when he heard the question was _will_ you still fly? And the fear and terror that he was going to be grounded, permanently, burst into fury.

"What the hell do you care if I fly or not?" he growled. "You haven't cared for twenty years. I'm supposed to believe you want to now?"

Dave's eyes went narrow, but he didn't shout back like he would have when they were fighting as kids. A thrill of anxiety shot through John as it hit him that Dave had spent a whole lot of his life learning to argue. Like their father. And John never won an argument in his life against his father. Ever.

"Yes. I'd like you to believe that I do care," Dave answered at last, his voice deadly quiet. "When I got the call that you'd been seriously injured, I realized…" Dave looked away to gather his courage, and John was shocked to see his own mannerism on his brother's shoulders. He abruptly looked back, fixed John with a firm glare. "I realized that you're the only family I have left. I realized that I care a lot more than I expected." The admission was brutally honest, and John felt his head begin to spin with the tension. The anger fled as abruptly as it had boiled over. Jennifer had said he might feel off balance emotionally from the head injury. He just felt…off balance.

"I'm sorry," John managed, sounding choked to his own ear. "I'm sorry. I… It's hard to be here," he admitted, hoping that explained enough. Dave's face went thoughtful and he nodded, though the comfortable companionship was gone.

"I'll clean up," Dave said softly. "You look exhausted, John. Go ahead and get some more sleep. I'll be working from home tomorrow. I hope I'll see you at some point. Perhaps you'll feel like for joining us for dinner in the dining room. Marc, um, Marc fixes a three-course meal on Fridays. It's really, um, really great." He trailed off, looking self-conscious.

"Us?" John was hoping, a little, that Dave's girlfriend would be coming.

"I invited Ms. Lammerford. She seemed reluctant, but I emphasized that she'd be our guest, not an employee. She ate with the staff this evening."

"I invited her tonight," John admitted, wondering if he'd have lost his temper had she been here. He didn't know anything about her except that she seemed competent and that he'd desperately wanted someone else around to act as a check against his off-balance. There was too much baggage between him and Dave. Too many years of pretending he didn't have a brother.

"So did I," Dave grinned and John realized he'd been thinking the same thing.

"I like it _here_," John sighed, looking out at the lights on the horse barns that were twinkling across the yard against a pitch-black backdrop.

Dave cocked his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "I do, too. I eat here most meals. I'll walk you to your room, then get this put away."

They didn't say any more except for a perfunctory "good night". John collapsed on his bed, exhausted from more than the few minutes on his feet. Damn Carter. He'd told her! Told her that mending twenty-year-old broken fences with his brother was more work than he had in him at the moment. More work than he had in him at his best!

As he fell into restless sleep, John had to admit that he was wondering if the roles were reversed – if Dave were the one injured or threatened – would _he_ care more than he expected.

Or was it too late for him?

* * *

Jane listened to the Colonel rustle himself down to sleep and then allowed herself to crash, too. The wisdom of "sleep when the baby sleeps" applied to patients, too. And besides, she was hoping to get in a run before it got too hot and sticky in the morning.

Wild thrashing sounds coming from the receiver she'd placed on her bedside table yanked her out of a deep sleep. She was out of her bed and through the door into the hallway almost before she was awake. She managed not to slam the Colonel's door open, but she didn't waste time on courtesy.

It was a good thing she woke up fast – the Colonel was in the process of sliding off the bed and onto the floor when she charged in. Jane managed to catch his head before he hit the side rail and then shoved at him until he was on his side. He was unresponsive to her repeated calls and his hands and legs twitched. His face was slick with sweat in the glow of the hallway light.

She hastily took his pulse, checked her watch, then sat cross-legged next to him, one hand on his wrist, the other on his shoulder. The latter wasn't procedure, but she found she couldn't stand to just watch him seize alone. She'd nursed epileptic patients before, and it seemed that family members, long used to the uncomfortable process, always found a way to share a touch or comforting words.

When the twitching finally began to subside, she made note of the time again and began calling his name. He lay very still for a long time before he groaned and slowly rolled off his shoulder to look up at her through squinted eyes.

"Dave?" he whispered, his voice hoarse, as if he'd been yelling.

"It's Jane Lammerford, Colonel. You're in your room, in your home. Would you like me to go get your brother?"

"No!" John gasped, almost looking frightened. "Where'd….where'd he go?"

"Where did who go?" she asked patiently.

"Dave," John growled, sounding testy. He began to struggle upright and Jane let him go, knowing that the effort would wear him out or convince him to give up. He managed to prop his back against the bed and pull his knees into his chest. He was wearing sweatpants and a grey t-shirt with some design on it that she couldn't make out in the dim light. The shirt was soaked around the neck with sweat.

He propped his elbows on his knees and pressed his palms into his eye sockets like he was trying to push them out through the back. He was gulping for air and Jane knew the signs too well. She snatched for the plastic baggie that John had emptied to set out the meds she'd returned to him. When he did gag, she was ready, but he pushed it away and just breathed more deeply, eventually dropping his head onto his knees without retching.

"He was here," John said into his knees after another long wait. "Dave was right here. He was…upset. Kept going on about family obligations."

"Did you argue at dinner?"

"Not exactly," John gasped, then groaned holding onto his head even tighter.

"Headache?"

"Splitting."

"Can you get back on the bed? I think you should lie down, Colonel." He was shivering and his teeth were rattling. Jane needed to get him warm and calmed down.

"No! I need… I need…" His head whipped up and he winced at the motion, but then he was rolling to his knees and pulling himself up by the bed. "I need to get out of here," he finished, sounding almost normal. He struggled to his feet, bracing himself by the bedpost, then lunged for the door. Jane was so surprised, he'd grabbed the doorframe and was gathering himself to keep going before she managed to chase after and step in his path.

"Colonel, please listen. You've had a seizure. You're confused and shocky. You need to stay still and get warm."

"Please," he whispered, clinging to the doorframe like a lifeline. "I need to get out of this room."

Jane saw the pain furrowed on his brow, but his eyes glowed with determination in the hall light. And she stifled a sigh. So much for a compliant patient.

"I'll help you to the couch," she said and wrapped her arm around his waist, and tugged his arm over her shoulder in a combat assist. She would let him go, but she wasn't going to have him fall and hurt himself on her watch.

Steadied by her shoulder, he leaned away from the room and she let him pull her down the hall. He was lighter than she expected, lighter than he should be, she guessed, illness and nausea having taken its toll. But her hand on his side rested against firm, hard flesh under soft cloth. His shoulder that brushed her cheek rippled with muscle as he pulled on her.

A flash of memory – a scent, the feeling of warm arms around her, a caress against her cheek – set her heart thrashing in her chest and she almost pushed away. She almost threw his arm off of her and ran. Only by concentrating on his labored breathing and his trembling hand on her shoulder could she remind herself that he was her _patient_. Just another wounded hero that was her responsibility to get through the next day.

When they reached the living room, to her surprise, he leaned towards the kitchens instead of the large leather sectional that sprawled across the space.

"I said-," she began.

"Better couch," he interrupted and kept going.

Before they walked into the kitchen proper, he turned at a door she hadn't been through, yet. It was small and closed, so she'd felt it inappropriate to explore. The Colonel, however, didn't hesitate at all and she found herself in a very small short hallway that opened into an entertainment den of some sort. In the days that the house was built, she was certain it would have been called a smoking room.

The Colonel flipped on the first switch, then paused, his certainty wavering. He leaned into her as he looked around and she struggled not to flinch or pull away. The room was a man cave if Jane had ever seen one. One full end of the large, cherry paneled, windowless space was dominated by a movie screen and six overstuffed theater seats lined up in two neat rows.

The other half boasted a pool table, a wet bar, and (thank God) another cushy sectional sofa. Soft lighting gave the space a warm, if very masculine, feeling.

"Dave, you son of a bitch," the Colonel breathed, sounding very impressed.

"Not how you remember the room?" Jane panted, tugging on him to get him towards the couch. She was desperate to get away from him. He smelled of sweat and Old Spice and it was killing her.

"Hell, no. Dad let us put an old couch we snagged from a friend whose parents were remodeling and I fixed a broken VCR and projection screen TV they'd thrown away at our school to watch movies on."

She helped him sink into the sofa, then backed away, her heart thumping. For a moment she couldn't move. The Colonel bent over his knees again and clutched his head. His shoulders began to shudder, but it was the soft hiss of pain that got her moving.

She slammed open the cabinet doors that lined one whole length of the room and found a stack of matching throws, presumably for movie-watching guests. She snatched for the whole pile and threw it at the Colonel's feet to be able to layer them on him one by one.

He eventually calmed, the shudders subsided, and he slouched back into a fluffy sprawl. "What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered, his eyes screwed shut.

"You're suffering from post-concussive seizures," Jane stated, still flushed. She sank into a chair opposite the Colonel, watching him closely and trying to expunge the phantom warmth against her side that lingered from having her arm around him.

"I mean, what happened to Dave? He was _there_. I _remember_ him being there." He sighed deeply.

"You were alone when I found you falling out of bed."

"Yeah, don't tell anyone about that, OK?" His sheepish grin was damnably endearing. She clenched her hands even tighter.

"You were probably dreaming and got confused."

The Colonel was quiet for a while. Jane couldn't tell if that was because he was accepting her interpretation or deciding whether to argue about it. Finally, he was distracted by another pulse of pain and he winced, rubbing furiously at his temple. When he went suddenly slack, she jumped out of the chair and felt for his pulse at his throat.

"Tired," he whispered and began to snore softly.

Jane waited until she was convinced that he was truly just sleeping comfortably. And then she allowed herself to do what she'd needed to for the past five minutes – she bolted. Through the narrow hallway, through the kitchen and out onto the patio. Solar lights glowed softly around the pool and set the water shimmering. It was late, 1:00 a.m. by her watch, and the air was cool, if humid. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, but not from the temperature.

What the hell was wrong with her? She'd spent barely ten minutes with the man, and she was coming apart. She hadn't thought about anyone that way since Charlie, though he'd been gone two years. So why had her hormones started to move on all of a sudden?

_Because you've lived like a nun for two years, Jane. And the Colonel is, well, attractive._ A reasonable part of her brain tried to answer.

_But a lot of guys are attractive. Even other patients – that Marine last month had arms the size of canons, and I didn't blink twice taking his blood pressure. Why him? Why now? _

Jane felt herself in kind of an argument with herself – between the part that needed to think it through, and the part that just wanted to run and continue to hide from the truth. Any truth that touched on the livewire of grief she fed herself on.

_Because he's not just attractive, he's very attractive – a soldier at peak physical condition, a man in his prime, and available. Hormones noticed those things, even if you didn't. He's also nice._

_Lots of men are nice._

_And he reminds of you him._

_Damn you!_

_And he's hurting – both from his injury and from being furloughed. These people here, his brother, they don't understand him. And you do, Jane. _

"He's a patient," she said out loud, ending the argument. "It doesn't matter what I think about him or why. I'm not a damn teenager, I can do my job without letting a school-girl crush get in the way. And when this assignment is over…I can deal with it. Maybe I'm ready to start dating. That guy, Stephen the EMT, has been hitting on me for months."

Her shoulders suddenly felt lighter, and she relaxed. The smell of honeysuckle and horses was drifting from the barns and she breathed deeply, sucking in the refreshing scent that had nothing to do with men or memories of shared workouts and long hot showers.

Sleep pulling at her, she walked wearily back into the house and back into the den to check on the Colonel. She grabbed a couple of the throws from the pile that had slid off of him and wrapped herself into the chair. He had sunk down so that his head rested on the armrest, and his body sprawled along its length. One bare foot to the ankle stuck out from under the pile of throws. One long, shapely arm was thrown over his head and his face was relaxed, peaceful.

Jane bit her lip, then pulled the throw over her head to cover up her face except for her eyes that kept tracing the curve of his bicep from elbow to bulging shoulder.

Finally, she covered her whole head.

"Jane," she whispered to herself. "When this job is over…you so need to get laid."

* * *

John woke up feeling like crap. His head throbbed, and the nausea had returned with a vengeance. He felt like he was trapped under a heavy suffocating blanket of illness, all the worse because he'd had a few short hours of freedom from it yesterday. Why?

He stayed still on the couch, trying to think it through. He'd taken all his meds on time. He'd gone to sleep feeling tired, but not miserable.

A slow flush heated his neck as he fuzzily remembered careening around the house in the middle of the night, half freezing from shock. But even more than chagrin, he felt confused and angry. The vision of Dave standing in his bedroom doorway, chewing him out with cold, bitter words was as clear to him as their dinner conversation a few hours before.

"You've never understood your place, John," Dave had said in the dream or vision or whatever the hell it was. "You've never accepted your responsibilities, but now it's time. You've neglected your obligations for too long. The family is in trouble and it needs you, _now_!"

John shuddered at the remembered fury in Dave's eyes. That, at least, seemed out of character enough that John relaxed a bit. It had to be a dream. Dave wanted him here. Dave hadn't asked anything of him. He and Dave _were_ the "family". But it had seemed so real. He even remembered the smell of scotch on Dave's breath… At the time, all he could think of was getting away – getting away from that room, though in the quiet of a miserable morning, it didn't make any sense.

Finally, his heart calmed from reliving the vision and all that was left was embarrassment. He owed Jane big. He opened his eyes a crack and found a mound of blankets blocking his view – blankets that Jane had piled on him when he was freezing and out of his head with hallucinations. Struggling a bit to disentangle himself without moving his head, he managed to finally spot her, asleep in the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

She also had blankets wrapped around her, and she was curled into a ball with her head lolling to rest on her knees. Her hair was a tangled mop, with long strands covering half of her face, and the rest sticking out of the blankets like the mane on those weird cat-things that the Menarians had domesticated as pets. Poofoos, they were called.

She had a stern, professional manner about her when she was wearing the mask of "Nurse Jane", but sleep softened her features. She was quite pretty, he realized, the thought filtering through the whirling dizziness like a drop of cool sanity. It had been a really long time since he'd woken up to admire a beautiful, sleeping woman. Not that he hadn't, um _participated_ in the finer arts of male/female companionship more recently, but one night stands and booty calls didn't usually involve much sleeping or waking up together.

Idle musing was quickly forgotten as his head began to pound with more urgency, and the room began to whirl even more violently around him.

_Fifth of Scotch_

_4.5 Gs_

_Athosian Flu_

He must have made a sound – and he hated the idea that he might have admitted the pain out loud – because Jane's voice was suddenly drifting through the thumping between his ears and he felt a warm squeeze on his shoulder.

"Good Morning Colonel. I think it's safe to assume you'd like your morning painkillers. Hang tight for a few minutes and I'll bring it. I think you'll feel more like yourself when that has kicked in."

John didn't have an answer, but he felt more miserable than ever without even a sleeping visiting nurse nearby for company. When Jane finally returned, he was hurting _and_ shaky. He couldn't hang on to the water himself, so Jane gently lifted his head and pressed the pills to his lips, then held the cup for him.

"I know you feel like crap, Colonel, but try to get the meds down if you can. I think you really need them this morning. I think maybe yesterday was a bit ambitious. You're going to take it real easy today."

He managed to swallow the pills and then he curled up tighter to wait for something to help. Anything. White sparks of pain were flashing at the edges of his internal vision again and he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, trying to squeeze out the pain.

"I thought I'd find you in here."

Dave's voice, sharp and angry again, startled John from drifting in semi-consciousness. He sat up on the couch, fighting the dizziness, but a surge of something like adrenaline, fear even, compelled him to open his eyes. Dave was standing with his arms crossed, looking down at him.

"This is always where you used to come when you were pissed at Dad. But you're not seventeen anymore, John. Quit hiding and get your ass upstairs. We're all waiting on you."

"What?" John gasped.

"David."

John turned towards the new, deep voice that interrupted his brother's rebuke. He stared at the intimidating, square man sauntering through the door and past the pool table, but he didn't recognize him. Not at first.

"Go on, David, we'll meet you in a moment," the man said and David scurried out with only a glare over his shoulder in protest. John started shaking so hard, he had to grab the couch to steady himself.

"Dad?" he whispered.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. He looked around him, bewildered, but everything seemed the same. Same couch, same theatre, same blankets? He looked down and realized that he was wearing uniform pants and his black t-shirt and there were no piles of blankets on his shoulders. "Where's Jane?" he asked, though the question was for himself.

"Ms. Lammerford is off duty for the day. John, David is correct, though coming from your brother I'm sure it's difficult to hear. You two have always been so uncivil to each other. It's time you claimed your place in the family. And as much as I hate to say it, the Air Force was good for something – we need your skills as a soldier and pilot."

"What?" John stammered, his teeth chattering even harder.

"Don't play stupid with me!" Patrick Sheppard's ghost snapped at him with such fury than John flinched. "We don't have time for your idiotic notions of patriotism. That attempt to escape your duty is over. I've made sure of that. You're never going back to that damnable Air Force, John. And you will come upstairs, and you will join me and your brother in meeting with the family leadership to solve our current problem."

"Solve...what? Dad...I'm sick," John pleaded, so confused he forgot to be humiliated by the admission.

"Ms. Lammerford assures me that you are well able to manage. Your injuries were only severe enough to relieve you of service, thank god." Patrick's face went disgusted. "Suck it up, son. Come with me. Now."

Patrick turned and walked out and such was the command in his tone, John's utter bewilderment, and a deep, inborn instinct to obey that he found himself on his feet following his father out of the den and into the house. The shakes faded, then subsided the further he walked, though his vision grew fuzzy –white light was blurring the edges.

His father led him up the stairs from the living room, then down the hall towards the Office. Dad's Office? Patrick squared his shoulders and strolled through the office door without looking back, simply assuming his son had done as told. John's surroundings were so faint, it was like looking through a thick fog at a distant building, but he needed to know who was in that room – what other ghosts had returned from his past.

He edged around the doorframe, like he was about to enter a room full of rogue Genii, but the fog was only growing thicker. Dave was standing just inside, scowling and glaring at him. His father was shaking hands with a man that John recognized, but couldn't remember...exactly.

"It's about time," Dave said in a low snarl, just before his vision greyed out completely and the white glare flashed out everything else.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on, John. It's about time you woke up, yes? We're worried about you."

John groaned, disoriented and the voice that had pulled him from the grey fog suddenly sounded panicky. "Is he OK? Is he supposed to do that?"

"He'll be groggy for a few more minutes," another voice reassured. _Jane_. "Colonel, when you feel like it, do you think you could sit up for a little bit, let us know you're back?"

Back? The vision of his father standing in the den flashed through his memory and he struggled to sit up as Jane had asked. His arms were tangled in layers of fuzzy blankets, and he flailed to throw them off.

"Easy, Colonel. Just sit up. You don't need to pony up."

When he was upright, if slouched heavily against the back of the couch, he found Jane squatting next to him, her hand on his wrist. Dave was in the chair, a glass of juice in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. His expression was pure terror, and he was leaning forward, the cups forgotten.

"How's the head?" Jane asked, checking her watch as she felt his pulse.

"Splitting," he snapped, but he wasn't shuddering, and while the blanket of nausea and illness still felt heavy over him, he didn't feel suffocated. He looked down at himself and saw the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd gone to bed in.

"Jane says that's the second seizure today!" Dave said. "And it's only 6:30!" He looked completely freaked out.

"I'm concerned as well," Jane said, sounding serious. She let go of his wrist and stood, looking at him with such a thoughtful look that he felt like squirming.

"I feel better...now," he babbled, wanting everyone to stop looking at him. He really wanted to ask about Dad, to make them convince him it had been a dream or hallucination. Like the midnight fight with Dave, it had seemed so REAL. But another glance at Dave and he decided that asking crazy questions would only get him more scrutiny. And he just wanted to be still for a few minutes to regroup, gather his composure.

"Even still. I'm going to give your doctors a call, see what they think."

"Ok," John shrugged. He felt like a little kid.

"Do you think you could eat something? Your unit's infirmary did a good job of keeping your calories up despite nausea. We don't want to lose ground, here."

John's stomach lurched at the thought, but he knew the drill. "I'll try. Eggs? The blander the better," he suggested.

"I'll go ask Marc to make you something." Jane scurried out, leaving John with the freaked-out Dave. Dave just sat there, staring at him with a look of such scrutiny that John wanted to hide under the blankets. Or scream at him.

"John –" Dave began and John decided he didn't want to hear it.

"Look, if you want me gone, I'm gone. I know this isn't what you signed up for. You don't owe me anything. I can get the Air Force to find housing for me in Colorado." John jammed his hands under his armpits and looked away, hating how weak he felt and wondering how the hell he was going to make it back to the SGC without Conaway.

David's look went annoyed. "I was going to ask if you needed anything," he retorted, his voice forced.

"Oh."

David chuffed, rolled his eyes and his head, then abruptly lurched to his feet. "I said you're welcome here, John. I meant it." He walked jerkily to the door, then turned back, his expression closed, his tone disappointed. "I hope, eventually, you'll come to believe that." And he walked out.

Great. Now John felt like crap _and_ an ass.

He wallowed in self-pity until Jane returned with a tray.

"That Marc guy is crazy good," she said, bustling at the coffee table, unaware of, or ignoring the thunderclouds over John's head. She picked up a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and a mug. "He's made you herbal tea from scratch that he says is a cure for nausea – cinnamon and ginger and something else. He also said the eggs have a little basil to help you keep them down and make them taste better without being too strong."

John took the cup when she handed it to him, holding it with both hands to keep from slopping. A few sips later, he had to admit his stomach did feel more settled. Jane swapped the cup for the plate and he managed several bites. They were damn good, and they didn't have that "eggy" smell that frequently made him gag.

When he leaned over to put the plate down, he stayed there, pressing his hands into his eyes until his vision sparked.

"Jane?" he asked at last.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"The seizures. I saw... Do you think...?" he trailed off frustrated.

"Do I think what?" Jane prompted at last and John opened his eyes to look at her. She was sitting stiffly in the opposite chair. She was giving him her full attention, but seemed distant somehow. Nurse Jane was back. John sighed.

"During the seizures I saw...things. Not just saw, I heard, did things."

"What kind of things?" Jane leaned forward, frowning slightly.

"Last night, I saw Dave yelling at me."

"You mentioned that last night," Jane said softly.

"And just now I saw...my father."

"Your father is?"

"Dead!" John snapped. "The last time I was here was a year ago for his wake."

"But he was alive in your dream?" Jane's voice continued to be soft, professional.

"He made me go to some meeting upstairs in Dad's office. Dave's office. Whatever." He was confused and starting to regret saying anything. It sounded stupid out loud.

"What's your question?" Jane asked simply.

John cocked his head. That was exactly what he needed her to ask – not "tell me about your father", not "poor baby", definitely not "it was probably nothing", just "what's your question".

He clasped his hands together. "Is that a common symptom of seizures? Visions or hallucinations, I mean." It was so much easier to ask in the abstract and his gratitude for Jane just kept going up.

She thought for a moment. "A seizure is like an electrical storm in the brain. Neurons fire off and go crazy for a bit, to be not particularly medically accurate. Some patients have described experiencing phantom feelings and scents, flashes of color, that sort of thing. Dreams are essentially the same thing in a healthy form – random neurons firing that the brain tries to make sense of from memory or imagination. I would say the visions you describe are within the scope of medical expectation."

"But why all the visions of Dad and Dave? Why not have dreams about...home?" He suddenly felt cheated. Even in his hallucinations he was trapped here.

Jane nodded, knowingly, as if reading his thoughts. "I think you just answered your own question."

"Huh?"

"You haven't been here in a long time."

"No."

"You aren't close with your family. The last time you were here was stressful."

"That's an understatement."

"You don't want to be here," Jane finished with the finality of truth. John just squirmed. Jane sat back, cupped her own mug between her hands like she was warming them. "So don't be surprised that what your banged-up subconscious is working on is related. Just give it time. Give it all time."

He groaned, and flopped onto the couch. He covered his eyes with his arm. "I'm sick to death of giving it time," he whispered.

Jane was quiet for so long that John turned his head to look at her. She was frozen in her chair, still in her pajamas, he realized, her hair sill mussed, though she'd twisted it into a tail at the back. Her eyes were distant, completely turned inward. At last she noticed him watching her and her expression went fierce.

"I understand," was all she said. And John was absolutely certain that she did.

* * *

Jane let the Colonel sleep on the sofa until lunch, then she bullied him back to his bedroom. As he continued to remain lethargic through the afternoon, she amped up her care to full maintenance. Which meant waking him for snacks, restroom breaks, and shoving as much liquid down his throat as he would drink. The fact that he let her intrude to such a degree worried her even more than his blood pressure, which spiked twice – each time after a mild seizure that he seemed not to notice or remember.

When her cell rang mid-afternoon, she was relieved. His doctors from Peterson were finally returning her request for a call. After the exchange of a spat of medical jargon, she found herself hanging up with a new prescription and an upped dose of one of those "unusual" meds. Because he had asked, she'd also mentioned the hallucinations that he was concerned about and the doctor's response had been stiff, coy almost. That was what had prompted the increased mystery medicine.

That afternoon, she had the presence of mind to check in with Marc the chef and Dave early, and they agreed to postpone the fancy dinner for another evening when John felt better. The delay was a relief for more than just her patient. Dinner with the Sheppard brothers sounded like more work than she got paid for. Imagining the hours of awkward small talk made her shudder.

She was just about to wake the Colonel for the high calorie meal she had requested when a hoarse shout blasted out of the monitor. When she skidded into the Colonel's bedroom, he was standing beside his bed, his fists clenched, his fresh t-shirt drenched in sweat again, his eyes wild and unseeing.

"Damn, you, I said I won't do it!" he growled so fiercely that Jane looked behind her, expecting someone else to be standing there.

"Colonel Sheppard?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and raising her palms towards him in a placating gesture. His body was poised for combat and her hand-to-hand was really rusty.

"Stay out of it, Jane," he barked, and she snapped her mouth shut, surprised. Before she could recover, he looked inward again and spat, "I won't fly your damn drugs for you. You and the whole family can go to hell. Dave, come with me. Please come with me."

He held out his hand, beckoning, seeing and responding to images only he could see. His shoulders began to shudder and she could see the pounding pulse at his throat. His chest was heaving with deep, gasping breaths. She had sudden visions of him collapsing from a blood pressure induced stroke.

"Colonel!" she called loudly. "You need to wake up. Snap out of it. Lie the hell down before you fall down."

He startled, dropped his hands slightly from where he'd raised them defensively and looked at her. Confusion flashed in his eyes. She stepped closer, desperate to keep his attention.

"John," she said quietly, using his first name in the hope he would respond with equal familiarity. "Why don't you lie back down?"

A fearful expression flashed over his face – as if he was afraid for her for some reason – then an instant of resolve flickered just before he grabbed for her, spun her around and threw his arm around her throat, pinning her in a hell of a choke hold.

"What the hell?" she spat and struggled, squirming in all the avoidance moves she'd been taught. He countered them all and she felt her vision grey a bit as he tightened his squeeze on her carotid artery. She had about 30 seconds before she'd pass out. _Great_, she thought, _choked to death by a hallucinating patient. Didn't see that coming_.

"Hold still," he whispered very softly, his lips brushing her ear, "I won't hurt you. Just play along. I'll get us both out." He shifted again and began backing out of the room slowly, dragging her along. "Just let us go and you can go back to doing your damn dirty work. I'm out of the family business. Permanently." The latter was apparently for the phantom assailants he was escaping.

Jane felt his heart thundering against her back that was pressed against his chest and sudden determination kicked in. She relaxed, waited until he'd pulled them almost to the doorframe. When he glanced over his shoulder to check the hallway, as she knew he would, she yanked and slammed her elbow into his side. It was like hitting a brick wall but his hold faltered enough for her to grab the arm that was around her throat and throw him over her shoulder. As he fell, she crouched with him and grabbed for his head.

He slammed into the floor on his back, his heels just missing the mattress, and her hands cradling his skull to keep it off the floor on impact. She'd gotten the spacing right. Any closer to the bed and he'd have hit it first and gone down on his head no matter how good a hold she had on him. Breathing hard herself, she crawled beside him, pinning his hands down, ready to shove a knee into his chest if she needed to immobilize him further.

But the fight seemed to have gone out. His eyes were screwed shut, and his lip was curled into a snarl of pain.

"What the hell is going on?" A voice from the door demanded. Crap. Jane couldn't get a break. David Sheppard flung himself into the room and crouched protectively over his brother, glaring daggers. "Did you just _throw_ him to the floor?"

"He was hallucinating," she explained, angry at the situation and at herself for not finding a better solution. "He had me in a choke hold. I had to immobilize him, or I'd have been toast."

"Holy Christ!" David exclaimed, his shock now centered on his brother. "I heard John shouting and ran to check on him and then you just..." David stared at her in awe. "Are you OK?" he asked, genuine concern on his face. Jane gasped sighed in relief. He believed her.

"I'm Fine. Get a pillow. And some blankets. He's shocky again. I was able to protect his head, but I'm sure it still hurt like hell."

David did as told and she checked the Colonel's pulse rate and took his blood pressure (which was skyrocketing). Then, they sat on either side of him until he relaxed, then rubbed his eyes and groaned softly in a normal sort of way. Jane was still wary when he cracked open his eyes. They widened when he saw them hovering over him and his expression went nervous.

"Did I fall out of bed...again?" he asked, sounding like a scared kid.

David slumped, buried his face in his hands.

It took everything she had not to burst into nervous, adrenaline-fueled giggles.

"Let's get you off the floor, Colonel," she managed instead. He was able to roll to his knees and use her shoulder to push himself to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist to guide him to the bed. He held tightly to her shoulders and her side was warm again when she eased him down.

"Headache?" she asked.

"Splitting," he answered, rubbing his temple.

She touched his neck lightly, pleased that his pulse rate was returning to normal. He just watched her, looking pathetic.

"David, would you mind getting the Colonel's dinner and bringing it here. I'm sure he'd appreciate the company, too, if you haven't eaten yet."

"Of course!" David actually looked eager to comply, though the Colonel threw her a dirty look. She took his blood pressure again (it was dropping, thank God), then watched him rest and gather his composure.

"Feel better?" she asked when he'd stopped shaking and seemed fully alert.

"Yeah," he answered after thinking it over. "Nausea's fading, finally. First time all day."

She nodded, relieved. David returned with a tray of not two, but three plates. "Marc said you haven't eaten, either," David said by way of explanation.

"Thank you, I'll... I'll just take this to my room. Give you two some privacy," she stammered and snatched up the plate and bolted from the room.

She shut her door behind her and set the food down. Then she stumbled to the bed and finally let herself react. It stared with giggles, then full body shudders. She wouldn't say medical emergencies happened all the time, but they were at least part of the job description. She hadn't used her hand-to-hand training in a _hostile_ situation since that mugging in downtown Baltimore last year (and the mugger had been more scared of her than she was of him when that ended). She'd certainly never had to shoulder-throw a patient before!

Holy fuck, she'd been scared.

But not of _John_, she realized. Somehow, though his hold had been secure and forceful, she believed what he'd said – that he was somehow trying to rescue her from whatever he'd been afraid of.

She'd been scared _for_ him. That'd he hurt himself. That she had hurt him.

She finally became aware that the brothers were chatting idly over their meal and that David was telling John what had happened. She reached over to turn off the monitor to give them the privacy she'd promised, though the words had merely been an excuse to get out.

Just before she hit the button David's voice snorted with a deep, relieved belly laugh.

"God, John, you should have seen it. I was standing behind you, I couldn't really see her, and then you went flying – heels over head!"

The silence from the monitor was expressive and Jane hesitated, guiltily curious about how the Colonel would respond.

"She shoulder-threw me?"

"Yes, she said you had her around the neck and so she just threw you. Like a sack of potatoes." David laughed again. There was another pause.

"Did I hurt her?" This time the voice was strangled, fury directed inward. Jane blushed.

"No, no. She was more worried that she'd hurt you, I think."

Jane turned the monitor off and curled up against the headboard. As the adrenaline faded, only confusion was left behind, and the kind of exhaustion one only felt after a rush. They'd called it "The Crash" in the field.

She must have dozed off, because when she heard the light tap at her door, she startled and found her heart racing again as she scrambled for the knob. She flung it open to find John standing there, his hands in the pockets of his baggy, jersey sleep pants, his shoulders easy and his expression thoughtful.

"What's wrong? What can I do?" she blurted, still groggy and still flushed from the startle. John chewed his lip.

"Are you OK?" he said finally, his voice edgy, his eyes scared.

"What?" She felt completely flustered. And dammit, it didn't help that the elastic on his pants was slipping low, revealing the curve of his hip below his too-tight t-shirt. His hair was extremely spiky from a day in bed, and his cheeks were scruffy, but it suited him. The rugged look suited him _extremely_ well.

He took his hands out of the pockets (thank god) and scrubbed the back of his hair with a nervous swipe. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I'm really sorry. Dave told me what happened."

"Oh." She finally got it and she relaxed a bit. "Oh. It's OK, really," she managed.

"It's not," he retorted firmly, then rolled his eyes in frustration. "All I remember is being scared and desperate to get out. To get you out, too. I had no idea I was _really_...grabbing you."

"I know that," she answered firmly and meant it. "It must have been some hell of a hallucination."

He shuddered, then just looked miserable. "But if they're getting worse. If I'm getting...dangerous..."

Jane stepped forward, gripped his forearm, hard. "You were hallucinating, but you were yourself. And I can tell that "yourself" would never hurt anyone you cared about, even in a hallucination. You're not a threat to me, Colonel. I can handle myself. My only worry is that you will hurt yourself, but that's why I'm here. I've got your back. I'm on your six."

His look went calculating and she could tell he was putting some things together. Things about her.

"I appreciate that," he said at last, a new look in his eye that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't attraction _exactly_, it was trust. And that was almost worse. He nodded slightly to himself, then jerked a shoulder at the door to his room.

"I'm calling it a night," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Colonel," she said formally. He gave her a closed look.

"Call me John," he said and the words were almost a command. She just jerked her head in a nod to acknowledge, then stood frozen, watching him make his way back to his own door. Before he went in, he turned, his hands back in his pockets.

"Don't let me hurt anyone else, either," he said, just as firmly. "Especially Dave."

And then he was gone.

Jane listened to John manage himself through his nighttime meds and heard him settle himself down. Once he was snoring, she took a hot shower to try to wash out the persistent scent of him on her clothing, in her hair. She crawled into bed, exhausted. But sleep wouldn't come. Her mind kept drifting to the soft sounds of his breath over the monitor and her body tingled, remembering the brush of his lips against her ear.


	5. Chapter 5

Jane woke up when her alarm buzzed at 6:00, both surprised and pleased. No thrashing or dream-induced shouting had come through the monitor all night and she'd slept like the dead. In fact, it was so quiet that she peeked in on..._John_ before she put on her workout clothes, just to make sure he was breathing. A flop of his hand, and a deep sigh of sleepy contentment soothed all her fears and she hit the pavement soon after.

It was a glorious morning. The slap of asphalt under her feet was therapeutic and she ran with abandon, letting the road lead her where it wanted to go – past pastures and more horse barns, a commercial nursery plantation, and even a rural middle school. She wondered if that was where the Sheppard boys had attended, then admitted she couldn't even begin to imagine the sturdy, wary Lt. Colonel as a 6th grader.

When she got back to the Sheppard house, she knew it was past 6:30, so she went to the back door and into the kitchen before washing up, so as not to impose by showing up even later for breakfast. To her shock, John and David were both sitting at the small kitchen table. She froze, not wishing to intrude, but Marc spotted her first.

"Miss Lammerford! Your eggs and bacon are almost ready, just how you like them," he bellowed, outing her presence. John looked up and smiled, David peeked briefly over the edge of the paper he was holding, then went on reading.

Feeling very grungy, she walked to the table, giving her patient the once-over. He was slouched in his chair, his arms hanging heavily - all body language that told her he still felt crappy, but he was _here_. A half eaten slice of toast and Marc's special eggs were on his plate. He looked very scruffy and rumpled and his eyes were locked in a permanent squint (the headache squint she called it) but his pleased-with-himself smile was to die for, like a kid on a snow day.

"Good run?" he asked first, his expression wistful.

"Great," she answered. "No cars or commuters to dodge. I usually run in the city. Do you run?"

If anything, his wistful expression grew deeper. "I run. My base is on the best city in the galaxy, um _planet_ to run. 180 degrees of ocean view. Nothing but sky for as many miles as you can pull out of yourself. Or my running partner can pull out of me, which is more accurate."

Marc handed her a glass of juice that she gulped gratefully.

"Where are you stationed?" she asked, finally, unable to think where he might be talking about. Jane caught David peeking over his paper again, trying not to let on he was listening.

John bit his lip and his eyebrows went coy. "I can't say," he answered at last. Jane was surprised.

"You're not a spook are you?" Smart guy, high quality background – she could see him in intelligence.

"No, just TS."

David slapped down his paper, gave John an annoyed look. "What is TS? What do you do?"

"Top Secret," Jane answered for him. "If he told you, he'd have to kill you. I'm hitting the showers. Come by in half an hour – I want to check your blood pressure," she said enjoying David's look of half exasperation/half terror at his brother. That should give him something to think about. She took the plate that Marc handed her and sauntered out, leaving the brothers to themselves.

* * *

John watched Jane go, his speculation about her background growing more solid the more he learned. But why didn't she just come out and tell him she was ex-military? Most vets he knew were eager to talk about their service, especially with an active-duty serviceman. Maybe it was a rank thing.

He quickly forgot the puzzle and turned his scrutiny on Dave, who was pulling off a "Dad" impression if John had ever seen one – nose buried in the paper, ignoring everything and everyone else as if what he was doing was the most important thing in the house. As a kid, John had taken newspaper time as a challenge, escalating his efforts to get attention until he was either in trouble or in tears of frustration.

He suddenly decided he wasn't going to take it from Dave. He snatched for the paper, yanked it out of Dave's hands, folded it sloppily then sat on it. Dave just stared in shock when John picked up his piece of toast.

"What you got going on today?" he asked around a mouthful. Dave sighed, the expression exaggerated and John just grinned wider. He felt...great. Better than in days, in fact. His head still pounded, and he suffered if he moved it too quickly, but the blanket of nausea and phantom fatigue was much better. He'd made it the whole night without even a damn dream, good or bad. He didn't know why – Jane said something about new doses of his meds, maybe that was working – but he decided he didn't care.

"I'm attending a meeting of investors in the City. Lunch deal. I'll be back late."

"Baltimore?"

"New York."

John just stared. "No kidding? But it's Saturday. Is it Saturday? I think it's Saturday."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Which is when my investors are available."

"You flying commercial?" John found himself suddenly fascinated by the details. How did Dave live? Where did he go and when?

"Company Jet."

John slapped his hand on the table. "Seriously? You've got a jet? Can I fly it?"

"It's a shared resource, John. I have quarter access, which is plenty for the amount I travel. A service maintains the plane and provides the pilots. I don't think they'd just let you waltz on board and 'take her up'," he snorted with a mock swoosh of his hand. His expression went a bit frosty. "Besides, you never answered my question. _Do_ you still fly? For all I know, you haven't touched a, a joystick, thing," Dave made driving motions and it was John's turn to roll his eyes, "since you left Antarctica when Dad lost track of you."

John stiffened. It was just like Dave to worry a sleight – John had snapped at him the other night and Dave was going to rub it in until John either recanted or got so pissed he went off again. He suddenly felt 17 again, being manipulated by men who were better at...everything than him.

"I still fly," he growled, making an attempt at the high road. "In fact, I fly some of the most advanced, most incredible machines in the universe. I fly machines only a handful of people on this whole goddam planet _can_ fly." John glared, daring Dave to pick up the fight. "_TS_," he added, to rub it in.

Dave's eyes went narrow, then he nodded. "Good," he said and pulled out his phone and started to read email. John sighed, giving up. Dave poked at messages for a moment, then threw John an awkward glance. "I'm glad you still fly, John. It was something you always wanted, even when you were little. Dad never understood, but I did. I'm...glad," he finished lamely, then smacked the phone down to scrub at his eyes. He looked beat.

"Dave, are you OK?" John asked, suddenly concerned.

Dave slumped back in his chair, wearier than John had seen his brother. Ever.

"Things at work are...busy. There's a lot going on," he said, using the same phrase he'd used the other night. A thrill of foreboding tickled John's neck along with a memory of the nightmare-Dave shouting about the family business being in trouble. John hadn't cared then because, in the dream, the "family business" was drug trafficking. Weird. He had no idea where his brain had come up with that one, unless...

"Is everything OK with Dad's Company?" he asked sternly, hearing the edge in his own voice. He really didn't like the way Dave startled and looked guilty for a moment before he plastered arrogance back on.

"Every. Thing. Is fine," Dave replied, pronouncing every word with a bite. "Except that I'm going to be late. If you feel like dinner together, ask Marc to set it out no earlier than eight." He got up, yanked the paper out from under John's butt and folded it under his arm. He stood looking at John for a long moment.

"I'm really glad to see you up and about, today," he murmured before he turned on his heel and wandered out, looking harried and distracted. It wasn't until he'd left the kitchen and Marc was bustling around the table cleaning up that John realized what Dave had said earlier.

Dad had _lost_ track of him?

In almost twenty years of service before Atlantis, John had never once known that his father had _kept_ track of him.

* * *

Jane showered, put on her scrubs for the day and felt almost human. John had been so ill yesterday, that she remained vigilant throughout the day, but he seemed so much better that she did little than keep tabs on where he was, what he was up to and what his blood pressure was doing throughout the day.

He read the morning paper on the patio, then she found him digging in the recycling and he apparently read the whole previous week's worth of papers, too. She passed him at around noon, on her way to lunch, and he'd added a stack of business magazines to his growing pile of discarded reading material.

He spent the early afternoon in rack time, then disappeared. She spent an anxious few minutes searching until the light bulb clicked and she found him in the man cave, sprawled in front of a 15 foot TV screen with ESPN on the tuner.

"Man," he whistled when he saw her come in, "Dave does not know what he's missing. _THIS _is what Saturday is supposed to be." He threw her a grin that was 100% man-child and she couldn't keep one off her own face. "Sit with me," he added, looking like an eager kid. "I haven't spent an afternoon watching football in I can't remember how long!"

"I'll pass. I'm going swim some laps and dry off in the sun," Jane excused quickly, feeling her heart race at the invitation. She would like nothing better than to sit with him and watch football. And _that_ was the problem.

"'Kay."

Marc fixed a stunning casserole for dinner (she was sure that's not what it's chef name was, but she tended to call anything with food mixed together "casserole") that she ate with the staff like she had the first night. That turned out to be a bit of a mistake, because John wandered out of the cave around 6:30 looking for food (it was good that he was hungry) and ended up eating his meal alone at the kitchen table.

At 8:00, David returned home and fixed himself leftovers, looking tired and pale. It wasn't any of Jane's business, but she decided to push up her evening checkup and maybe hint that John could join his brother. John was back in front of the big screen and this time a movie was playing. John was in the front, center seat, literally at the seat's edge, so engrossed he hardly reacted when she sat on the arm of the seat next to him.

Curious about what he found so engaging, she watched a few frames and was surprised to see an old summer blockbuster sci-fi action film playing.

"Didn't peg you for the sci-fi type," she teased. He looked at her distracted.

"I'm not."

"Oh?" She was definitely amused. "What movie is this?"

"Independence Day. Just look at that!" A giant alien ship was hovering over a recently blasted White House. "That ship is _way_ too big to descend into the atmosphere to that altitude without thrusters. And thrusters that would allow it to maneuver that way would destroy the surface under it even before its lasers did. And if it's got some kind of pure energy or anti-gravity drive, instead, that can function in both space and in an atmosphere, then I know someone who would really like to see their power source." This was delivered with a kind of sarcastic snort. "I'd just go after their communications. If they're so stupid they need _our_ satellites to communicate with each _other_..." He trailed off with a guffaw, like the end of the sentence was obvious.

Jane had the strangest feeling that John didn't quite realize he was talking about an alien ship on a made up movie. He pulled a double-take at her bemused expression.

"I'm just saying – that ship isn't very realistic."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "For a sci-fi space ship," she deadpanned.

"Right," he said, looking nervous.

"Your brother's home. I need to check your vitals one last time before I hit the hay and I thought you might want to see him. His look went serious.

"I do."

Jane got him checked out for the evening and he left for the kitchen, a strangely determined tension in his posture. She got ready for bed, made sure the baby monitor was working, then pulled out a magazine and waited for John to settle down before she could sleep. It had been a surprisingly boring day, in utter contrast to the day before. Maybe it would be easy from here out.

Only about a half hour later, she saw John stalk past her open bedroom door towards his own room. The monitor squawked when John slammed his door shut, the impact deliberate, an act of anger or frustration.

Or...maybe not.

* * *

The second morning John woke up comfortably sprawled on his bed without Nurse Jane in attendance he started to think he might actually, just maybe be getting better. With the relief came an ever so slight nudge of disappointment – it was kind of nice waking up to a friendly, concerned face, especially one as pretty and mysterious as Jane's. He just didn't want to have to be sick to get that.

He rustled, restless, but not ready to get up. One day of catching up on a year's worth of news and lying around watching football and bad movies was enjoyable. A treat even. Standing at the brink of a second day of _nothing_ made him itchy. The docs had told him he'd be able to do most anything, go anywhere he wanted once the dizziness subsided, which it hadn't entirely, so he was stuck in that middle limbo: well enough to be bored, sick enough to not feel like doing anything. And even once he did, any travel was contingent on getting a ride. The damn seizures made sure he wasn't getting behind the wheel of any vehicle anytime soon.

His first thought was that he could get Jane to walk with him to the barns. He hadn't visited the horses yet and he'd loved to watch the groomers care for the creatures as a kid – though his Dad had never let the boys any closer than that to his prize beasts. But the hesitation returned. Jane had avoided him all day yesterday. Oh, she'd kept an eye on him – he had felt her scope him out each time they happened to pass in the house, even when she thought she was being coy – but she'd made it a point to keep going once she was convinced he wasn't about to pass out or seize.

_Ok, enough thinking_, he said to himself. Time to get up. When he looked in the mirror after hitting the can, a very strange person looked back at him. He was scruffy, rumpled and boasting a 3-day beard that was reaching mountain man status. And when was the last time he'd taken a shower?

Shower it was. He stripped off the sleep pants and t-shirt, annoyed that he was well enough to think of things like having to do laundry soon. Between sweats and lying in bed all day, every day, he was going through his t-shirts fast.

Dave had the bathroom well stocked, including several types of soap and shampoo to choose from. Despite his improved sense of well-being, he started to feel a little shaky after a few minutes of standing and vigorous scrubbing, so he finished quickly, saving some energy for drying off. He also left shaving for later – letting his beard grow was also something of a treat.

The thought of putting the soggy clothes he'd slept in back on was unpleasant, so he tied his towel around his waist, scooped up the dirty clothes, and walked out the door, looking forward to breakfast and thinking he might ask Marc to make him something other than eggs.

He was so preoccupied that he almost ran over Jane who he belatedly realized was hovering just outside the bathroom door. She was still dressed in her pajamas, her hair was still loose and rumpled, and she had the look of someone caught stealing dessert. She turned three shades of red and his grin widened.

"Everything…everything go OK in there?" she stammered, then looked like she'd give anything to take the question back. John chuckled, grateful for her concern. He probably should have told her he was up and planning a shower that he knew could be nerve-wracking for a caregiver in charge of dizzy patients (having been a dizzy patient more than once in his career).

"Fine. Still a little shaky, but definitely on the right heading."

"Headache?" she asked, clearly reaching for the professional mask to cover her faux pas.

"Splitting, but I'll live," he answered, the exchange becoming something of a routine.

"Any nausea?"

"Still much better."

"Good. That's really good. Try to get your calories up today. Shall I go ahead and take your blood pressure so we can be done for the morning?"

John glanced down at his bare chest and precarious towel. "Can I get dressed first?" he asked. Jane's eyes widened and her blush deepened, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of losing her cool.

"Of course," she answered, matter of fact. "Come by before you go to breakfast."

"Only if you promise to eat with me."

"Never a good idea to extort a woman with a rectal thermometer and a MCMAP Brown belt," she retorted and walked confidently back to her own room.

John snorted, greatly pleased. Jane had his number already. Which was good, because he liked her. He had a habit of tormenting people he liked. And the exchange had baited a little bit more of her past out of her: _Marines_. She probably really was as tough as she made out, he thought, though he really wanted her to join him at breakfast. After last night...

John dressed quickly, going over his argument with Dave last night. He hadn't been at his best, John admitted. Dave had come home from his meeting looking even more exhausted than before and edgy. He'd pushed Dave to tell him what was bothering him and Dave had pushed back, _hard_. John needed to make nice, show that he was backing off and come at it from a different angle. He got his vitals checked and bullied Jane into coming with him.

Dave wasn't there, which was strange because the kitchen staff had put his juice and coffee out on the table in his usual spot, as if they expected him. John was distracted briefly from his puzzlement by Jane's exclamation of delight. He turned to see Marc approaching them with a large tray of hot, homemade cinnamon rolls, smothered in gooey icing.

"Wow," he breathed. "No problem getting my calories up today," he murmured to Jane who's grin went rueful.

"Me either," she said.

John let Jane scoop herself out a steaming roll first, still looking around for Dave.

When his brother finally rushed in, John could tell something was up. Dave was flipping down the collar of his suit coat and tugging his shirtsleeves through as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Make me a box to go?" he asked Marc, his voice clipped, determined.

"Of course, Mr. Sheppard."

"Dave, what's wrong?" John snapped, forgetting he'd planned to back off. Dave's look at him was distant.

"I've got to go in to the office," he answered at last, then snatched for his juice. He downed it in one gulp, not bothering to sit, reached for the package Marc handed him and had turned to leave before John could think of another way to ask. So he shoved his shoulder in Dave's path and put his hand on the doorframe to block the way out.

"Dave," he began. Dave raised his hand, stopping John's rebuke. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes briefly, like a man trying hard to control his temper.

"John, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But, you have to understand – I've been running the company for three years now. I know what I'm doing. I...regret that things are unsettled while you're here, but it's just business. Really."

"How _unsettled,_" John growled and Dave actually grinned.

"You know the saying 'the calm before the storm'?"

"Yes?" John pulled his arm away. Dave was talking to him at least.

"Well, today is the _eye_ of the storm, John. It'll get worse before it gets better. But like all storms, it will pass and leave good fishing behind it. Especially if you're the one steering the boat and know where to throw the nets."

There was a cockiness, a gleam in Dave's eye that John had seen in the mirror once or twice – it was the confidence of a man who knew he could not only meet the challenge, but turn it to one's advantage.

John nodded and David smiled, the expression genuine. "I'll be home before dinner."

"How about dinner in the dining room?" John found himself blurting out, feeling an urgent need to lock in the guarantee. "That gourmet meal you promised the other day?"

The look of surprise and dammit – gratitude – for the idea on Dave's face tugged at John's conscience. "I would like that. I would like that a lot," he said. "Just tell Marc. See you at dinner, then." And with that he was gone. John watched him jog the steps to his office, then back down to disappear towards the garages.

When he turned back, he saw Jane watching him closely. "I hope he really does know what he's doing," John admitted to her, letting slip some of his worry.

Jane's look was calculating. "You always such a mother hen?"

John took a step back, surprised by the question. "Something's wrong and he won't tell me what," he retorted, feeling challenged.

"He's a Suit. How wrong can it get?"

John had a flash of memory – a room full of soldiers guarding a Wraith scientist that was working on a cure for his friend's sister, all because of a Suit who'd thought he could control life and death. A Suit like Dave.

"Pretty damn wrong." John sighed, then looked at Jane, still holding her untouched roll, still studying him and he felt suddenly embarrassed. "You're right. I guess I just..."

"Don't trust your brother?"

John bristled. "No! I mean, yes. I mean, I just don't want him to get hurt."

"I don't think your brother is marching out to disarm IEDs," she said.

The sudden image of Dave, suit tails flapping, cell phone ringing, newspaper tucked into a rucksack and crouching over a dirt road in Afghanistan, made him laugh out loud.

"You're right. Again, damn you."

Jane's face remained serious, though. "Damn right, I'm right. Look, Colonel, I know you are used to being responsible for a lot of people. I can tell you take that responsibility seriously. But sometimes, with family... you have to let them go. You have to let them do their thing and be who they are. Even if it kills you. Even if it kills them."

John felt his face heat but before he could find a suitable retort, something in Jane's face went hard. "If you push, John, you'll only push your brother away. Don't... don't do something you'll regret later because you were scared."

His face got even hotter, but not because of her rebuke, but because he saw himself on the other side of it, on Dave's side – 25 years ago, he would have given anything for someone to give that same speech to his father. If someone, then, had told his Dad to let _John_ be himself, to let _John_ be who he was, then today wouldn't be so damn hard.

"You wouldn't take Dave's advice on how to field strip an M16, would you?" Jane finished.

John laughed, breaking the tension. "Hell, no," he answered and Jane finally grinned, too.

"Then, maybe you could lay off the business kibitzing."

John nodded, but his full attention was on Jane. She was too wise for her age. Too good at this family stuff. Another piece to the mystery. Jane flushed slowly under his gaze and he felt a similar redirection of blood flow.

"Will you join us for dinner?" he asked at last, then before she could object or bristle, he snatched for her hand. "Please. As my guest. It's really important to Dave," he grinned, using his most charming smile, "And it's pretty obvious I need you on my six."

"It would be my pleasure," she answered formally, though her eyes held a hint of wariness.

"Thank you," he said and took the forgotten cinnamon roll out of her hand. "You can have a hot one."

* * *

Jane watched John take a giant bite out of her roll and then flop at the table, lost in his own thoughts.

_I think what I've got is already too hot," _she thought.

The day went much as yesterday, except with a brooding sense of excitement or anticipation. Jane couldn't pin down why a damn dinner for three people who'd been living together for three days was such a big deal, but even the house staff seemed into it. She caught Meg, the housekeeper, rushing around with enormous bunches of fresh flowers that then began to appear in vases all around the house.

"Mr. Sheppard called the order in from work," the buxom, matronly keeper shared breathlessly when Jane stopped to help her lift a heavy urn from the buffet in the dining room.

"Is he always this particular about dinner on a Sunday night?" Jane asked, wondering if the excess was some sort of pissing contest – i.e. David's way of showing off.

"Oh, no!" Meg exclaimed. "Sylvy (the gardener) and I were talking this morning. We have not seen Mr. Sheppard so nervous about guests since his poor father's funeral, except that wasn't for pleasure, of course. Bless his soul. He's seemed so busy since Mr. Sheppard Senior passed on. He only goes to this trouble when Ms. Gianni comes to visit."

"Who is that?" Jane asked, now putting flowers in the vase as Meg chatted. She'd learned that almost anyone would keep talking if you kept working.

"Mr. Sheppard's _Lady_ friend," Meg said. "We are all so happy that Colonel Sheppard can spend so much time with us, the poor boy. Mr. Sheppard instructed us all to do everything possible to help him get well."

Jane kept her giggles to herself, but ended up getting put to more than just flowers. She had no idea there was so much work involved in keeping such a large house, but by the time John had gotten up from his afternoon nap (which she was secretly grateful he still consented to take) Jane had set out candles, fluffed pillows, and replaced every hand towel in every bathroom in the place (and there were dozens of bathrooms it seemed). Whenever she thought she'd be off the hook, another harried staff person would have some task for her, requested ever so politely.

By the time she realized she should maybe be getting dressed for the dinner she was supposed to attend, she was feeling a bit like Cinderella.

She rummaged through her suitcase wondering what of the clothes she'd brought could possibly be appropriate for the occasion. She finally decided to hell with David Sheppard and his insane richie sense of pageantry and put on her nicest jeans, a simple shell, and the soft cardigan sweater she'd brought in case she decided to go out on her day off. She scrubbed her face, brushed her hair and left it down. If that wasn't good enough, well, then the Sheppard brothers could eat their damn quail or whatever without her. She'd order out for Chinese.

The soft tap at her door sent her scrambling into her flats and she flung it open, half-ready to call it a night before it had started. What stood there waiting for her took her breath away, instead.

John was washed, groomed, shaved, and dressed in a pair of tan cargo pants and a black golf shirt, both of which were neat if not David Sheppard crisp. The shirt stretched tightly from shoulder to shoulder and the neck was open, revealing a tantalizing peek of collarbone. His hair was a fluffy experiment in cowlick management and his smooth chin begged for touching. A faint scent of masculine shower soap and shampoo drifted through the door, sending her own blood pressure skyrocketing.

He had his hands in his pockets again and his expression was very similar to the one she'd been wearing only moments before.

"Want to go out for pizza?" he asked, deadpan. Jane laughed, reassured, if still flustered. John performed a shrug of mock resignation. "If you'd rather join me for a five course meal prepared by the Baltimore Culinary School's top graduate, instead, then I _suppose_ that would be OK, too."

"I'd rather have pizza," she confessed, "but David's gone to a lot of trouble. You were right, this dinner does mean a lot to him."

John nodded thoughtfully as he led her slowly towards the dining room. There was still a hint of headache squint around his eyes, a heaviness to his shoulders that revealed weariness – to her trained eye, at least. But she still couldn't believe how much he'd improved after another day of seizure-free rest.

The sun had set while Jane was dressing and the staff had lit the house on fire – candles burned from every shelf and table and the lights had been dimmed to create a perfect, cozy, almost fairytale setting.

"It means a lot to him," John repeated softly as they spotted David bustling about the table setting out glasses and silverware himself. "I think it means family to him. We never ate together after Mom -."

John stopped abruptly and his jaw went tight, but Jane understood. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, then dropped her hand abruptly when even the slight touch sent sparks shivering up her arm.

David was beaming when he greeted them with a handshake for John and a polite peck on the cheek for her. He even pushed in her chair for her at the table – after an awkward moment when she couldn't figure out why he was hovering and waited too long to sit down. John's snicker earned him a glare.

By the time a server Jane didn't know came by with an open wine bottle, she was again considering the excuses she could use to bail. Instead, she held the glass high for an extra long pour and then threw back half the glass in one gulp, desperate for the buzz. John snickered again, but before she could catch his eye for another glare, he turned his sights on David.

"How did work go, today?" he asked, oh-so-casually. Jane felt a flush of anger at his stubbornness – hadn't she chewed him out just this morning? – but David's lighthearted, genuine, and downright relieved laugh kept John from getting his shin kicked.

"Work was excellent," David boasted, then tipped his own glass of wine for a long swig. "I believe our situation was resolved most satisfactorily – and faster than I could have hoped."

"That's great!" John sounded equally relieved. He fiddled with his silverware for a moment, and Jane could tell he was sizing his brother up. "Can you tell me what the hell your _situation_ was about, now?"

Jane sighed, thinking _stubborn _again, then zoned out as David, apparently _very _pleased with himself, launched into a long exposition about investors and hostile takeovers, and partners. It was all very yawn and she was happy when Marc himself served them their first course and stayed to chat with her while David went on and on.

John however listened intently, only picking at the appetizer that Jane wolfed down in about three bites. Partly because she was starving – partly because it was amazing. She tuned back in when John finally got a word in edgewise.

"So, in a nutshell, a partner corporation of yours was taken over by a third party that are real sleazeballs and you've been trying to get PSI out of the relationship because you were afraid they were using them as a wedge to get to you?"

John's summary revealed that not only had he followed David's bisno-babble, but that he understood it well enough to recap in a way that even Jane could understand having not paid attention at all. That was why he was a Colonel, she guessed – he was a man who could see the big picture, translate minutiae at a high level.

"In a nutshell. I've been working with the rest of my investors and both boards, ours and our partner's original board, on a deal that will not only get them out from under the takeover, but will, in fact, bring them under PSI."

John's look was skeptical, wary. "You bought the sleazy company?"

"I inverted our relationship with them, yes. The deal went through behind closed doors today. We'll announce in three days once the money is done moving."

"They can NOT be happy about that."

"I am certain they are not!" But David sounded pleased by the notion. He lifted his glass and grinned when it took Jane a moment to recognize that he wanted to make a toast. "To good people who know how to do good business. I couldn't have done it without some very old friends of the company."

"To good friends," John murmured, his expression wistful again, and Jane knew he wasn't thinking about David's business partners.

They ate the salad course in relative quiet. David poured Jane a second glass of the wine and she put him down in her book as a "pourer" – one of those people who couldn't stand an empty glass, especially when it was toxic. She'd need to nurse this one or she'd find it perpetually full. Her brother did the same thing with Scotch, and many wretched nights and two-day hangovers had taught her the hard way to leave her glass full.

What she didn't know was that a pour also meant that you were now the object of conversation.

"So, Nurse Jane Lammerford," David said as he finished, twisting the bottle just right to avoid drips. "The bio from your agency said you served with the Marine Corp. I'm sure you and John have talked at length, but tell me about your time in the service. Were you involved in medicine then?"

Jane froze like a deer in headlights, feeling trapped and at the same time unaccountably pleased. If John was a Colonel because he could tease out the big picture, David was the businessman because he could make you feel like you were the most important person in the room with a charming smile and an inane question.

"John and Jane have not talked at length," John clarified, sounding very amused. "John would be very interested in hearing your answer to the question."

David gave John a haughty glare, presumably at having his question usurped, but Jane was feeling like a suspect under interrogation at the same time her cheeks were glowing hot from the sudden attention of these two, powerful men. She could tell tall tales, cuss, and throw back scotch with the toughest ground pounder in the Marines, but the Sheppard brothers were powerful in a different way, a way that was completely foreign to her.

John's face went understanding all of a sudden.

"Did you start Navy and go Greenside, or did the Nurse thing come along later?" he asked gently, giving her a place to start and an easy question to answer. David's face went blank, a fact that John seemed to enjoy.

"I was a greenside HM," she confirmed, finding comfort in the milspeak. "After I finished C school, I went FMF. Field Medical Service Technician." John's eyebrows shot up, so she kept talking, fast. "I did field medical support in Afghanistan and Iraq until a little over two years ago. Once I was out, I started working for Home Health. Finished my RN degree about nine months ago." There. That was her life "in a nutshell".

"_Field_ Medical?" John breathed, and slumped back in his chair looking very impressed. She could appreciate his shock – not many women made it to field duty, but it was an accomplishment that had lost its meaning for her.

"What? What does that mean? What is greenside?" David asked, sounding a bit left out.

"It means she was a Corpsman, uh a Navy medic, that served in the field with the Marine Corp. Green for Marine." John translated, his intensity as he studied her causing her to blush. Again.

"It means she spent a lot of time ordering bandages and filling out paperwork," Jane retorted, trying to downplay. John didn't buy it, so she tried misdirection, "What about you, Colonel? What's your specialty?"

For an instant, John looked as trapped as she'd felt, but she couldn't fathom why – he'd started it.

"My specialty these days is getting into and out of trouble," he said carefully, "but I spent the bulk of my early days flying black-ops. When the Middle East and my personal life went to hell, I spent two years flying CSAR in Afghanistan."

"What does _that_ mean?" David butted in, looking like a man desperate to keep up. He'd pulled a whopper of a double-take at John's casual mention of black-ops flights and Jane herself had to work hard not to let her face show her surprise.

"Combat Search and Rescue," Jane answered, completing the pattern of answering for each other's acronyms. "I'll be damned. You were one of those hotshot assholes that brought us poor, half-dead bastards then took all the credit for saving their lives after we pulled them through and patched them back together?"

John looked genuinely disturbed. "I tried to get to them first," he protested, his voice tight. Jane thrust out her hand, grabbed his arm.

"I know. I'm sorry. Macabre humor. Bad habit," she stammered and to her relief, he grinned.

"So where did you work? When?"

And so it began. John teased and nudged and warmed her up and the main course was soon occupied by the "were you at fillintheblank" game that involved recounting every possible engagement or deployment where they could have crossed paths. It was a standard conversation – tradition almost among those who'd served – and it sure beat the hell out of the "grossest thing I saw" game that was also tradition. Among ground pounders, at least. She always won that game.

The best they could come up with is that she might have rotated through Kandahar Airfield at around the same time his squadron's group was stationed there. And it was possible he'd touched down at her clinic sometime, somewhere, but there were too many engagements, too many missions, rescues, and bloody soldiers to pin a specific one down.

What inevitably happened when playing the game was that you started telling stories. Since Jane only had a few she could tell at dinner, (she _always_ won the grossest thing I've seen game) John did the bulk of the storytelling, and he was pretty damn good at it. The truth was, combat pilots were badass – a combination of steel nerve, years of training, and high intelligence. They deserved to be cocky, and – teasing aside – they usually weren't.

John wasn't the exception. She found herself listening to him describe, in animated detail, a busted rescue that involved landing a Pavehawk on a rickety bridge and she saw a man who'd accomplished an amazing feat and thought only of the soldiers he'd brought home safely that day and the satisfaction of a challenge met and conquered.

The shiver she'd been feeling for three days sank deep, moving from superficial attraction into true desire. She wrestled with it, fought it - he was _so_ out of her league - but her body was tingling and she wanted nothing else in that moment than to listen to him talk, forever. To her.

David eventually stopped asking for them to explain acronyms, and just sat watching them – watching John mostly – an expression of awe plastered on his face. Jane realized that David must really not have had any idea of what John did before that evening.

They finally worried the topic into shreds and Jane was able to gain some composure when John returned to baiting his brother before the staff came to pick up their dessert plates. She was so lost in thought, that she was a bit startled when the men stood, shook hands and David began scooping up the last of their glasses and silverware to help clean up. Dinner was over.

"Walk you home?" John teased when he came to stand by her chair. Jane blushed deeply, feeling giddy, though the 2nd glass of wine remained full at her place.

"Expecting an ambush between here and the hallway?" she shot back, her independence flaring, though the lower half of her wanted nothing more than to take his arm and walk with him. She settled just for walking with him.

"Can't be too careful," he agreed, his sloppy grin infectious.

He was tired, though, she noticed as they reached the brighter lights of the hallway. The headache squint was much more pronounced and his hands were clenched in his pockets. His shoulders were stiff. The realization unbalanced her for a moment. She'd forgotten he was injured – he was so good at the _I'm fine_ routine, she'd bought it, too, though she knew the act was primarily for his brother.

"Let me take your vitals, and then you should sleep," she said, trying to get her priorities straight. It was damn hard when he was looking at her so thoughtfully and his face was so smooth and he smelled so good.

"Yes, ma'am," he teased softly and followed her into her room when she dashed in to get her gear. Having him in her room completely threw her. She'd been thinking she'd go to his room, though she wasn't sure why it made any difference. His face went puzzled and then smug when he caught her blushing.

"Pressure's up a bit," she said, concentrating hard on her job to try to control her damn cheeks. "Make sure you take your meds tonight."

"OK," he murmured and moved to leave – thank god. At the door, though, he paused. "Why did you go green?" he asked as though it was just an idle question he'd just thought up. From someone else, she would have bristled, would have assumed he was asking why a girl would try to compete with men. From him, it was worse – it was a question a man who was interested asked of a woman he wanted to know more about.

"I fell in love with a Marine," she answered. "It was easier to be together on the green side."

John's eyes widened, then she could almost see him process all the implications of the statement in that smart head of his, a domino of logic that could only lead her here, to this house at this time. She suddenly decided to save him the trouble.

"Charlie and I were married for almost five years. He was wounded by an IED outside BSP #9. I came home to take care of him and...he didn't make it." She finished abruptly because saying any more would make her sound either pathetic or like she was looking for a pat on the back. She lifted her chin, waiting for John's response but she wouldn't have told him if she didn't...trust him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, though it wasn't the words that mattered. It was the tilt of respect in his head, the glint of sorrow in his eyes that said "Goddam to hell that sucks and I know, I _know_, what it means." The slump of his shoulders that conveyed sympathy without pity.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"No, thank _you_," he said, his smile rueful. "For dinner. For coming to dinner. Uh, with me," he finished looking almost bashful.

"Next time, Pizza," she joked. John laughed.

"Next time," he agreed, his voice low and suggestive. Jane sucked in her breath as she realized his shyness was gone, and that she'd just sort of accidentally asked him on a date.

And he'd said yes.

"Good night," he said and closed her door behind him as he left.

"Oh, boy," she whispered. And then grinned like a kid.

* * *

John shut the door to Jane's room because he wasn't sure he'd be able to stay out if he didn't. Dinner had been...great. It had been hard work, getting her to open up, to talk about things they obviously had in common, but he thought he understood why, now. That would have been good enough.

But there was more. He was sure of it. She was so damn _in_ _control_ it was hard to tell, but he'd been sure she looked at him with interest rather than embarassment, sure she'd seemed a little flustered when she was checking his vitals, sure that she'd told him she was a widow to clear the table, set expectations. Expectations that were messing with his blood pressure.

Luckily, he was so damn tired – and it still irked him that sitting at a table for an hour could wear him out so thoroughly – that he didn't think a cold shower would be necessary for sleep. In fact, he grew more weary with every step towards his room he took.

At the door, a wave of nausea and heavy fatigue brought him to a halt. A stab of pain – like a blinding light searing through his eyes - forced a groan out of his throat and he grabbed for the frame.

He slammed his eyes shut and found himself suddenly _outside_? He was standing in a fog, everything around him was soft, fuzzy, but he was certain that he was on the patio, beside the dimly lit pool, like he'd just been walking from the house to the pasture behind the sauna. He spun to look back. He could see his window from where he stood. All the lights were out, even in the kitchen and in Jane's window next to his.

He took one step back and froze again at the sight of his feet in muddy combat boots. His pants were BDU camouflage and also covered in mud, like he'd been kneeling in the bushes.

His shoulders started to shudder and he groaned again, the pain inside his skull spiking. He stumbled backwards, then turned towards the wooden frame of the sauna; it was closer than the house. There was a phone in there. He could call for help.

Just as suddenly, he was back in the bright hallway, clinging to the door, breathing heavily. A trickle of sweat traced his cheek and he staggered, instead, to his bed. The small bedside lamp glowed softly on the nightstand. Slowly, his heart calmed, his breaths slowed, and the nausea settled.

Driven by confusion, he stalked to the window and pulled the sheer curtain aside to stare out at the patio and the pool. There was light and motion in the kitchen – he could just see shadows pass across the windows – and then the light went out. Dave must have just finished cleaning up. Another flicker of motion caught his attention and he squinted until he could see that the door on the sauna was unlatched. It swung open a bit and then banged shut with the wind as he watched.

Was his subconscious sending him dreams about malfunctioning latch hardware, now? Had he heard it banging from the hall when he experienced the mild seizure and his brain had come up with a story for why he'd left it that way?

Head pounding, pulse still louder than usual, he no longer had any energy for puzzles or enigmas or fears. He curled up on his bed, still dressed in his dinner clothes, and quickly fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: This chapter has an M-17 content rating. Read at your own risk of inappropriate daydreaming and uncontrollable blushing!_

Morning three without midnight rampages came as John had hoped, but he wasn't as cheerful as yesterday. He could only remember last night's episode vaguely, mostly just that he'd felt like crap and something about wandering around outside. And while not nearly as intense as his first day here, the feeling of nausea was back – like a brooding heaviness just beyond reach of his perception.

He threw on jeans, because his sweats were all dirty, and his last clean t-shirt, which happened to be a black uniform T, and scooped up the pile of soggy clothes to take to the laundry before breakfast. The housekeeper was appalled when she found him stuffing them into the washing machine himself, going on about how it was her job and her pleasure and to just put the pile in the hallway next time. And though her scolding was good-natured, the fussing irked him. He'd been doing his own damn laundry since he was seventeen.

He was still feeling irritated when he flopped himself down at the breakfast table. Marc had the day off, so the eggs he asked for were merely good, though the leftover cinnamon roll was still pretty damn perfect.

Dave finally sauntered in with his newspaper. He gave John a calculating look before pointedly sitting on the far side of the table, out of reach and John sighed, feeling restless. He was bored, facing another day of nothing. Yesterday, he'd amused himself with the "keep Jane busy" game. He'd dropped hints and made suggestions to the staff, then watched as they scurried off to put her to work. It had worked on his brother as a kid, and he hadn't forgotten the techniques. He wished Jane would join them for breakfast.

"What you got going on today?" he asked Dave finally, though the question was listless.

"Just work. Going in to the office as usual." Dave peeked over his paper, then, reluctantly it seemed, he folded it and put it down of his own accord. John returned his scrutiny with an idle glare.

"You look tired, John," he announced. "Listen, what you told me last night, about what you do, or did."

"Yeah?"

"I had no idea. Really. That you were such an accomplished pilot, or that you were involved in front line combat, and um, covert ops."

"Despite Dad keeping _track_ of me?" John snarled. That wound was still fresh. He'd kept track but never reached out.

"Dad never told me what you did, _exactly_. Just where you were, that sort of thing. I don't think he knew really, either."

"Didn't bother to find out."

"Very likely. We knew you were in some trouble a few years back. He knew that you'd been transferred to Antarctica because of it. But that's not my question," he went on hastily when John bristled.

"What's your question, _Dave_?"

"Well, are you happy with what you're doing now? You didn't mention your current post at all and I just wondered, if... you were happy."

John was suddenly flooded with homesickness for Atlantis. He missed the ocean at night. He missed hanging out with Ronon and bickering with McKay. He missed playing with Teyla's baby and just _missed_ Teyla with an ache that he couldn't acknowledge.

"I uh, didn't talk about it because, I uh, can't," he stammered, fighting the feeling of despair.

"TS?" Dave nodded soberly and John chuckled at Dave's pleasure in using the new term.

"Super Ultra TS."

"Are you happy?" Dave repeated, this time sounding stern.

"Very," John answered softly. "I think I'm most...scared that I won't get to go back."

Dave's face was conflicted for a moment, earning him John's scrutiny in return.

"Good. That's good," Dave said at last with phrase John was learning meant more was hiding under the surface. He kept up the glare until Dave shrugged. "I just was thinking...if you _were_ looking for a change, you could – you might think about coming home and work at PSI. We have been very weak on securing government contracts. You'd be a huge asset."

John stiffened, feeling like he'd just been shot by a Wraith stunner. Like he'd felt when Kolya's damn harpoon had yanked him head over heels. Like he'd fallen into a Genii trap. Because there it was. It had taken Dave four days to work up to it, but it had been there all along and that almost made it worse. Come home. To the _family_ business. His damn hallucinations had been warning him about this for days.

"Thanks," he sneered, slapping his fork down and shoving away from the table. "I'd rather board a Hive ship at lunchtime _unarmed_ than schmooze bureaucrats for a company that's brought me nothing but grief."

"I have no idea what a Hive ship is, and that _company_ put a roof over your head and food on your table, John," David snapped, looking hurt but bristling just as hard. God, he sounded just like Dad.

"And I got out as fast as I could. I put myself through school. I've managed for myself just fine ever since, thank you very much. I don't owe the company a damn thing."

"It's putting you up _right now_," Dave snarled. John reeled, shocked that Dave had gone so nasty, so fast. He was stung deeply by the words that scored John's deepest fears and insecurities. His temper was so tightly strung, that he stood up, lowered his shoulder and found his fist clenched. He really didn't know what he might have done if Jane hadn't walked in, right then.

"What the hell is going on?" she bellowed, then shoved close to John where he realized she could block his punch if threw it. "Stand _down_, mister."

John blinked, relaxed his fist. Dave just sat glaring, his jaw working, but sitting as if refusing to move gave him the win.

"I'm going for a walk," John snarled and slammed open the kitchen door. He was over the patio, across the driveway and almost to the barns when he realized that Jane was at his side, lock-step with every angry stride he took. She was dressed in running shorts and a tank top and was very sweaty. She'd clearly just finished her morning run when she'd walked in on world-war-Sheppard.

"You can keep walking," she said indicating both her understanding and the non-negotiability of her presence.

He did. By the time he'd made it around the barns and into the pasture beyond, his temper was losing ground to fatigue. He kept going, though, until he was shaky and then stopped, realizing he was breathing hard, like he'd run the whole way. Jane stopped, too, crossed her arms and just looked around, ignoring him.

He felt a flash of nausea and decided to sit down. Jane watched, but didn't offer any sympathy when he clasped his arms around his knees in the grass and hung his head. He felt a brief, white flash of pain and had the strangest vision of looking at himself – or at the barns at least, he didn't _actually_ see himself – from the overgrown fence row on the other side of the road. He shuddered, and his vision cleared, though his stomach churned for a few minutes longer.

"Feel better?" Jane asked at long last.

"I don't know."

"Anything you want to say?"

"No."

"Then I want you back at the house. You're pale as a ghost."

"I don't want to go back," he snarled. He heaved himself to his feet and started walking slowly in the opposite direction. Jane followed, as if she were merely out for a stroll, too.

"What'd he say that got you so worked up?" she asked at last, as if chatting about the weather. She almost sounded amused.

"He told me I should come home and work at Dad's company."

"Oh. A job offer. I can see how that would tick you off."

"You don't understand," he snarled and tried to out pace her. She just walked faster, getting more amused the more he struggled. Finally, he stopped, shoved a finger in her face. "Dad tried to keep me here my whole life. Wanted me to go to school on the East Coast. Assumed I'd come crawling back when my marriage fell apart. It's the same story, new cast."

"David told you to quit the Air Force and work for him?" there was a slight frown of skepticism that made John go a bit honest.

"Not...exactly. He asked if I liked what I was doing now and told me that PSI could use me if I wanted a change."

Jane cocked an eyebrow. "And you went off like a flash bang in a shopping mall?"

"The point is..."

"You're afraid you might have to take him up on his offer."

"...what?"

"You're injured. Furloughed, or grounded if that's better zoomie talk. You're afraid that your career is over. Or that your future is paper work if you do stay in."

"I will never work for that damn company."

"Fine. Just remember this, _Colonel_: You won't ever need to. You can retire and spend the next forty years in a cabin by a quiet little Colorado lake if you drink cheap beer instead of bourbon. Or you can keep making a difference in a different way. But the choice is yours. You _will_ get well, John. Even if you don't see the front lines, you have a long, useful life ahead of you."

"I..." he stammered over a retort then fell completely silent under her gaze. She had the look of someone waiting for him to "get" the obvious and he did. Finally. She nodded, satisfied.

"There we go," she said. "Afterburners off". Jane's smile set off all kinds of thoughts in his head that had nothing to do with Dave anymore. It was there again – that look, that "something more than doing her job" glow in her eyes. Damn, he didn't get that look often. Lust, every blue moon. Curiosity he'd take if he felt like it. Willingness when he was desperate. But there was a sweetness in Jane's face, a kind of indulgence when she looked at him.

"Let's go back to the house," she said, for once not shutting the look down with professionalism.

"Jane," he said, suddenly flustered himself. His head was pounding, but not with pain. She misunderstood his reaction and stepped close to snatch for his wrist. Her touch, this time, sent shivers up his arm. She put the back of her hand lightly on his forehead and he swore she let it linger, that she brushed his cheek ever so slightly as she dropped it.

"Do you feel alright?" she asked, concerned and strong and beautiful. Her shoulders glistened with sweat and her hair was damp in its ponytail. A sweatband kept drips out of her eyes.

"I feel great when I'm with you," he whispered and she raised her eyebrows, still smiling. So he stepped closer, leaned in. He touched her arm and then waited. She was surprised for only a moment, then his heart skipped when surprise turned into an expression he could only describe as "Hooah!"

She closed the gap and he felt her hand on his neck and he was lost in a long moment of the feel of her fingers in his hair, the taste of the salt on her lips, the scent of warm skin and fresh grass under their feet. When she pulled away, he grinned, feeling a kind of tense release building in his gut.

A soft hand on his chest, a gentle push brought it all crashing down.

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered, not ashamed, but sad.

"No! I _wanted_ -, I mean, I thought -."

"You thought right. I'm sorry because... I can't."

"What?" John felt more confused than after his first seizure.

"I mean, I _can_," she clarified trying to make it a joke, but stepping away from him. "I _shouldn't_. You're a patient and I'm –," she was speaking faster, and looked more and more panicky. "It's against the rules."

"I don't care!" he pleaded.

"I could get fired. I should have left two days ago because – " she stopped herself and John's chest twisted even further. She'd been attracted all along which only made it worse, only made it real, not a misunderstanding in a pretty field. When she abruptly turned and started to walk back towards the house, he lurched after her.

"Jane, don't go. I'll stop. I'm fine. It never happened. It's OK. Just don't go."

Her look at him was full of regret and desire. "It's my fault. I'm sorry. Get well, John. I mean that. Remember what I said, too. David's not trying to manipulate you, he's just lonely."

With that last bit of wisdom, she turned and began to jog back to the house. It was cruel because she knew John couldn't keep up. By the time he pushed himself past the barns to reach the yards, Jane was coming out of the house with her suitcase. She threw it into the back seat of a beat up corolla and drove away.

Like the proverbial camel, it was the last straw and he sank onto a bench the gardeners had placed beside a huge flowering shrub, exhausted and shaky again. He buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how long he sat there, but crunching footsteps on the gravel path pulled him out of gloomy brooding.

Someone stopped a few feet away and John heard a deep, amused sigh. He didn't look up when Dave sat down on the bench next to him without a word.

"I thought you had to work," John snarled after many long moments of painful silence passed.

"I think I'll work from home today," Dave said, sounding like he'd just come up with the idea. "It turns out that I have to keep an eye on my brother because the visiting nurse I'd hired to do it just quit."

John groaned, tried to push his hands into his skull through his eyes. It hurt like hell and he savored the pain.

"God, Dave," he sighed at last. Too beat for anger any more. At anyone. "I'm sorry. Again."

"Hmm." John finally looked up to see Dave lounging against the back of the bench, his expression too smug for someone who suddenly felt so cold. "Your doctors warned me that irritability and mood swings were a likely symptom of concussion. Your commanding officer, Colonel Carter, in fact, warned me that you were about "as cheerful as a starving tiger" and not to take you at your word until you've recovered."

John stared, "She did not!"

"She did. So, you see, I owe you the apology."

"Say what?"

Dave's composure finally broke and he fiddled with the buttons on his sleeves.

"I crossed the line. I told you that you are welcome here, and then I used it against you in anger. I'm sorry. I was...surprised and pissed."

"I was being an ass," John admitted.

"You were," Dave agreed solemnly. "But how am I to fulfill my role as the elder brother if I can't take a punch or two. Not literally!" he exclaimed the last, looking genuinely nervous. "But, I know hard Dad was on you when you disagreed about...things. It was cruel and unfortunate that I fell into his habit so easily."

"He fucked both of us up," John summarized, ruefully. Dave's face went hard and John was afraid, for a second, he'd screwed up again. Dave had always been his father's man. John saw Dave visibly let the comment go, but there was frost between them again, on this topic at least.

"Thanks, Dave. I mean it." At least Dave was trying and that was more than his father ever had done.

"You're _welcome_. And _I_ mean that."

Dave rose, flipped the tails of his coat back and put his hands in his pockets to stand staring down at John.

"Did you just hit on your nurse?" He asked at last, the question serious. John groaned again, feeling like he was twelve years old in the principal's office.

"I guess I did. But it wasn't like _that_. I like her. A lot. Turns out she likes me, too. Unfortunately, that fact came up this morning and she had to leave because...she's a good person," he finished softly. "She cares about what's appropriate. And maybe she's right. Maybe I got too attached too fast..." he trailed off because even as he said it, he didn't believe that he liked her because of some weird patient psychology.

Dave's sigh this time was of relief. "That's what Jane said, too. That's good. I was afraid I'd be hiring lawyers." John's glare at Dave was pure disgust, but Dave went on thoughtfully, "but I didn't think so. It was sort of...obvious what probably happened." His look was both mischievous and sympathetic.

"I'll call the agency, and arrange for someone else to come during the day while I'm at work. Jane has done a fine job pulling you through these first difficult days, so I don't believe you need round the clock medical supervision. Just a friendly eye on you during the day. Perhaps I'll ask for a male nurse," he finished with mock sincerity and then scrammed before John could swear.

John stayed on the bench, resting until he felt like getting up again. He couldn't face the big empty – empty without Jane – house and so he walked down the road a ways, very slowly, to stop at the spot where he'd imagined himself looking at the barns. Sure enough, the view was exactly as he'd seen it, though he couldn't remember ever standing in this spot before.

A broken branch immediately made him think of Ronon the tracker and he hopped into the ditch, following other ruined vegetation. Just past the first leafy bushes, there was a clogged drainpipe that had killed a patch of grass so that the only thing left was a soggy puddle of half-dried mud. A thrill of _something_ shivered down his spine as he had a flash of half-remembered memory – himself wearing muddy boots and filthy, muddy pants.

He blinked hard, again wishing for Ronon, but somehow he knew what he'd find. At the edge of the puddle, where the dirt had dried in the warmth of the morning, was a deep, boot-shaped footprint.

* * *

The day crawled by. John spent most of it outside. In the horse barn, in the yard. He slept for almost four hours in a lounge chair by the pool, apparently to the great amusement of the house staff, especially the gardener who was tasked with cleaning the pool on Mondays. John didn't care. Unless he'd been snoring.

Dave walked the house regularly, keeping an eye on him as promised, but he wasn't Jane. So he didn't tell Dave about the recurring visions of the Ranch from strange and always distant perspectives. Each flash was accompanied by a shudder, brief nausea, and a racing pulse. And each time he checked, there was no one where he'd thought the vision had come from. Except for the mud puddle, there was no evidence that anyone had even ever been where he went looking.

Weird stuff happened to him often enough that he spent considerable time thinking through scenarios: He didn't think he was in a holopod like on the Aurora, but he also realized he might not be able to tell if he was. He'd pretty much busted those mist aliens who'd tried to convince him he was at home, so he was fairly confident they weren't the culprits, here.

He could be dimension hopping – the Lost Daedalus was fresh on his mind and he spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out how that might be at play. But he'd never heard of dimension hopping without a device, like alternate-Rodney's drive or that mirror thing at the SGC. He also thought pretty much your whole body moved back and forth, too, and both Conaway and Jane confirmed that his body – concussed and epileptic as it was – hung around in this dimension. He wished he could ask Rodney, just to hear the man laugh at him.

Eventually, he kept coming back to hallucinations and Jane's quiet analysis. He had a strange moment when he actually wished that aliens and boogeyman technology was involved. The sinking realization that he was most likely just _screwed up_ sank his morale even further.

Dinner was an exercise in futility. Dave tried too hard to cheer him up. John tried too hard to refuse being cheered up. In the end, Dave excused himself, claiming he had work to do and looking sulky. John found himself out by the pool again as the sun set and the solar lights blinked on one by one.

His mood darkened with the landscape. He didn't know how many more days he could stay cooped up here. Trapped like a raven in a canary's cage. He felt manic and lethargic all at the same time. His heart began to race from nothing but a kind of suppressed panic. He felt his eyes sting. His head throbbed, as if rubbing it in.

"John?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath of relief when the hesitant voice drifted over his shoulder.

_Jane..._

"John?" Jane repeated, her heart fluttering so fast that she felt lightheaded.

He was so still, so quiet in the chair by the beautiful, LED lit pool, that she thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. She stepped closer, feeling nervous.

"Why...why are you here?" he said at last, his voice rough. He wouldn't look at her and her heart beat faster.

Um, it was a good question. And hard to answer.

"I quit my job," she said. He shoved himself upright and swung his feet to the side of the lounger.

"No!" he exclaimed but she touched his shoulder and he stilled, instantly.

"Not really," she sighed and sat down on the next lounge over. His posture was wary, and she felt a little sad. It was the same body language he'd had his first day here, when he'd walked into a home that wasn't home. "I told my agency that I needed another assignment. I'm officially off your case."

Wariness turned to keen calculation. She wanted him to get it, to make the first move so she'd be sure that he'd meant what he started this morning.

"So, you're not in trouble or anything?"

"No. My manager was a bit ticked that I'd bailed on 'that sweet gig'" she grinned, "but apparently your brother called and not only asked for someone else, but also vouched for me. That I had performed admirably and deserved a break." She shrugged. "Or something like that."

John just nodded. Jane fidgeted. She looked at her hands. "When Charlie died, people kept telling me to move on. Get back on the horse, so to speak. That I was young and –."

"Pretty," John said softly, sending a shiver down her spine. She cleared her throat and kept going, since yapping seemed to be working.

"I had a couple of rebound romps, just because everyone kept saying I should, but then I just wasn't interested anymore. I didn't want anonymous and I didn't _like_ anyone that way for a long time. I didn't want to like anyone that way."

"That all sounds pretty normal," John said.

"Until three days ago."

There was a long pause. John's face was in shadows, so she couldn't see his expression. "Oh," he breathed. Jane held her own breath. She'd as much as come right out and said it, but she'd also given him room to choose misunderstanding. That was the best she could do under the circumstances.

"So...I'm the first guy you've _liked_," he used her emphasis, "since your husband died."

"Um, when you put it that way, it's kind of creepy," she admitted. Damn. Had she blown it already?

"And you risked disciplinarian action by telling your bosses that you needed to quit working here so you could come back and tell me that you _like_ me, on the strait and narrow?" His voice was strangled and her heart sank into her shoes. And _that_ sounded presumptuous when he put it that way. She was certain she'd blown it. Certain that either letting on or walking away this morning had broken it before it started.

Until he made his move.

And, damn, it was a hell of a move.

In a single, fluid motion, he rose, pulled her to her feet and pulled her face to his. His hands felt like heaven on her hair and his lips on hers were both soft and firm, hungry and giving. She pressed herself to him, wanting more, needing more. He pulled hard on her lips, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rested his forehead against hers. She sighed deeply, their breaths rising and falling as one, fast and excited.

"First guy?" he whispered. "No pressure, huh?" and his voice was low and amused and up to the challenge.

"I'm not worried," she whispered back and this time she pulled him to her, their mouths and tongues exploring until he made a sound in the back of his throat, a low grunt of pleasure that sent her hormones on overdrive.

"Your room or mine?" she asked, finally breaking apart again.

"You don't work here any more, remember?" he answered, then brushed his lips against her ear to whisper, "Mine."

Jane didn't quite remember getting there. She was too dizzy with desire, too distracted. He closed the door and she pressed him against it, as if having waited so long, she couldn't wait a second more. She pulled his lips down to hers, unable to get enough, to taste enough, and he wrapped his arms around her hips, pulling her to him. He was hard and tight in his jeans and moved against her in slow imitation of what was to come.

She fumbled for the hem of his shirt and ran her palms over his bare skin, feeling the warm smooth curves of muscle and rib. He made that sexy sound again, then abruptly, he held her out at arms length, his expression panicky.

"I brought protection," she murmured, and that was that.

His shirt came off first, and she kissed his chest and collarbone and neck, drinking in the scent of him. She fumbled at his belt and buttonfly as he tugged on the hem of her sleeveless blouse. She got very distracted when his warm hands flattened against the skin on her back. For a long time, thereafter, she just let him undress her, eyes closed, concentrating on every touch of his hands, his breath against her face and skin.

She shivered when her bra dropped to the floor and she kept her eyes shut, afraid to look at him, suddenly almost nervous that he wouldn't like what he saw. Most guys she'd been with, even Charlie, would go for the grab, first. The _hooter honk_, he'd call it and she'd smack him. But John wasn't most guys.

His growl of appreciation was more honest than any words he could have spoken and he kissed her lightly, then teased her with his breath, staying far enough away that she couldn't reach him when she leaned towards him, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his face near hers. He slowly ran his palms over her hips, her torso, then traced the curve of her shoulder blades and arms until goosebumps ran from her neck to her naval. She got the strangest feeling he was caressing her like a fine car or a beloved aircraft; that he wasn't so much teasing her for her sake, but that he was _learning_ her through touch.

His thumbs finally flicked over her breasts, and the stimulation was so intense that she gasped, then clutched at him. She could feel his grin against her lips as she kissed him, devoured him. Her hands found his jeans again and there was urgency to her tugging that she'd never felt before. He let her struggle, more smiles against her lips, until she actually cursed, pulled away to concentrate on the damn buttons.

His fingers caressed her neck as she got the damn thing unbuttoned and she pulled apart the flap. He'd gone still, his eyes closed as she had and she forced herself to slow down, to give him the pleasure he'd given her. She started at the top, brushed his hair off his forehead, then traced his jaw, neck and collarbone. Her touch hovered over old scars on his arm – bullet gouges. She knew that kind only too well.

She put her hands against his chest, tickled the fine hair that grew in a patch just over his breastbone, then dragged them down his sides ever so slowly. There were more scars there, too, one only recently healed, though expertly tended, the other not much older and more serious.

"How?" she breathed, wanting to know his body, everything about him.

"Rebar," he croaked. "Building fell on me."

She shivered, then touched the 2nd scar. "And this one?" She only ever got to see the damage and the damage inflicted to cure. She found herself fascinated by how his wounds had healed, making him stronger. He hadn't answered, so she looked up and saw him chewing his lip, thinking.

"Um, I fell on a...vine," he stammered. Ok, so he didn't want to talk about that one. She giggled and kept going lower.

His face went from warm amusement to furrowed concentration as she dipped her fingers into the waistband of his shorts at his hips, then moved forward to cup him in her palms. He grunted, then fidgeted, clearly struggling for control and it was her turn to grin at his preoccupied expression. She gently tugged him out, pushed the pants below his buttocks and then stroked his length between her palms until he was gasping.

With a last caress, she pressed herself against him and reached for his face again. There were no more smiles, and his whole body went hard against her. His breath was urgent, his kisses were forceful and she hummed her own pleasure at his need and his control.

He suddenly did the pants shimmy and grabbed her hand to pull her firmly towards the bed, gloriously naked. His backside was as beautiful as his front side she thought as she followed him the few steps it took to get there. When he turned to pull her gently onto the covers, she realized that there would be no more slow. No more play.

He pressed himself onto her and she was consumed with need. She held his face against hers, hungry again, and then she found other food to consume – his neck, his ear, his shoulder. And while she devoured him, he was caressing, tasting, mouthing her until she was about to burst with readiness.

"Now," she whispered, clutching at his hips, pressing herself against him.

"Give me a sec," he whispered back, doing the responsible thing that only amped up her anticipation.

When he finally mounted her, she felt tears of joy sting in her eyes. She hadn't felt like this in so long. John pulled back and sank deep again, a groan of pleasure escaping his throat. His face was so beautiful. Lost in his own sensations, he looked fiercer, more badass than she'd imagined even in her most hormone-soaked daydreaming. He grinned slightly, noticing that she was watching him and put his hand on the headboard for powerful thrusts that quickly distracted her.

It was fast and seemed to take a lifetime all at once. He stroked hard, his face a mask of concentration, waiting for her. She writhed, all her nerves seeming to fire at once and grabbed for his hips. She pulled him deep into her and then cried out. John curled around her shoulders as she came and wept and groaned. His thrusts became the instinctive shudders of release, each one jolting her from fingertips to toes with sizzling stimulation.

When he collapsed with a last shudder, she held him on her chest and stroked his shoulders. He was panting, but he curled against her and buried his face in her neck. She had to release him so he could clean up, but she pulled him back over her when he returned. He nuzzled her ear, briefly, his breath still fast. When it slowed, he shuddered and squeezed her very tight. She heard a very soft hitch of anguished breath against her ear. But she didn't ask, didn't gloat.

He was so still for so long, that she guessed he'd fallen asleep, or close to it. She began to stroke his cheek, she traced the curve of his shoulder. She put her palm over the scars on his side as if she could take away the pain they represented. He shivered, and buried his face in his arms, pretending to ignore her. She was enjoying filling her eyes with him. He was beautiful, and strong, and she felt safe with him. Safe from misunderstanding because they were cut from the same bolt. Safe from abuse because he was an honorable man. She'd seen that when she turned him down. And – though the thought was rueful – safe from commitment. He was a restless man. He would return to the Air Force because that was the only place where he truly felt at home.

Her fingers brushed through his soft, damp-from-lovemaking hair. She felt giddy at the notion of touching him when and where she wanted. She'd let him rest for a while, she thought.

But not for long.

* * *

She awoke some time later with a startle and realized John was not beside her. They'd _both_ fallen asleep after a second romp and she was groggy from endorphins and the high tensions of the day. Even though it felt like midnight, it wasn't late, only 9:30 and the lights were still on in their room and hallway outside the crack of the door.

She shoved upright and spotted John standing at the window, clutching at the curtains. His breath was ragged and his head was low. She scrambled off the bed and threw on the first item of clothing she saw, which happened to be his black t-shirt, and then she rushed to him, already running a mental medical checklist.

"Do you see them?" he croaked before she could speak and she froze, her pulse rising. The last time he'd talked to her in the throes of a hallucination, she'd had to throw him across the room.

"John, you're in your room. You're with me. You're OK."

"I know that," he growled, surprising her for the millionth time that week. "Out the window. Do you see two men sitting by the pool?"

To humor him, she pulled the curtains aside and peeked out. The kitchen lights were still on but there was no motion in the room beyond its curtains. The pool chairs and tables were just as they'd left them a couple of hours ago.

"No, John. No one's there."

"I see them. I'm hiding behind the sauna. I don't want them to see me."

His calm, rational tone brought goose bumps. She was something at a loss. Maybe he was sleepwalking. She'd read literature about people who could have whole conversations in their sleep and never let on until they woke up with no idea about what they'd just been saying. That made sense, except for the sweat beading on John's brow and the shudders that were beginning to claim his shoulders.

"Why don't you want them to see you?" She asked to distract him while she risked touching him at the throat. His pulse was pounding.

"Because I'm not supposed to be here. There. Whatever. I'm spying, I guess. No!" he lifted his chin, his eyes still screwed shut but his head tilted as if he was listening to something. "I'm watching."

"Who are you watching?" Jane was more concerned by the second. She had her fingers locked around his wrist. She could tell his blood pressure was soaring, though he was otherwise calm.

"Dave and Dad. I'm watching Dave. To protect him."

"Protect him from what?" She had nothing to offer but questions.

"From...bad guys," he whispered. "Something bad is about to happen." He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was a strange glint in them. Like he was looking both at her and at something far away.

"John?"

"I'm..._me_," he told her, his voice low and full of wonder. "That's it. I'm _me_." He suddenly groaned and grabbed her for balance, hanging on while his face contorted into agony well past headache squint.

She held him tight, and this time she could also offer caresses of comfort like she'd been aching to do for days. At last he gasped, as if the pressure had suddenly been released. He reached blindly for the overstuffed chair that sat by the window and she lowered him into it, then crouched in front of him. He scrubbed his eyes, then his temples.

When he looked at her again, his expression was serious, thoughtful.

"Jane, what meds am I taking?"

She sat back on her heels, wondering why he was asking, but she believed a patient was ultimately in charge of their own care. "Tylenol 3, that's a pain killer. Chlorpromazine for nausea, though I don't think you've taken that recently," which was a shame, she thought. That med might explain some of the nightmare/ hallucinations. "Methyldopa for blood pressure. And...a drug I've never heard of. The information sheet says it's an AED for the seizures, but I looked into it and it seems to me more chemically related to typical antipsychotics."

His eyes went wide, and she shared his skepticism, but his doctors had been very clear, very professional, and very on-top of John's care, so she'd had no cause to question. Until now. "Did your doctors explain that to you?" she asked him, wondering if his shock was from surprise or embarrassment.

"No... Wait, maybe. I was really...dizzy then. I remember something." He buried his head in his hands. "Residual energy signatures...no...unusual electrical activity in the brain and... something inhibitors." He rolled his head, frustrated.

She looked at him warily. "Antipsychotics tend to block, or yes, inhibit, receptors in the brain's dopamine pathways, maybe that's what they said. Whatever it is, it's not a commercial drug. I couldn't find the name anywhere. It's not like any anticonvulsant med I've seen, either, but I'm no pharmacist. I had to assume it's a really new drug or a new form of treatment for seizures."

He was thoughtful for a long time. "It makes sense," he whispered, talking to himself. "Does it wear off?" he flung the last at her.

"Of course," she said warily. "That is a class of medicine that has to be administered very precisely, in fact."

"It wears off quickly?"

"I suppose so, comparatively speaking. They're not like antidepressants that have to build up effectiveness and create risk of withdrawal. John, you didn't stop taking that, did you?" She hated treating him like a patient when they'd just become lovers, but he was frightening her.

"No," he said and she believed him. She was relieved for only as long as it took for him to look at the clock and add, "But I'm going to."


	7. Chapter 7

"John, they prescribed that medicine for a reason." Jane spoke carefully, watching him for his reaction. "I know that type of medicine can make you feel dull or out of it. Lots of people don't like it. But...post-traumatic epilepsy isn't something you mess around with."

John listened, for the most part patient, until her last sentence.

"Epilepsy? No one's said epilepsy." He was bristling, clearly hearing the word _grounded_ in his head. Clearly not wanting to hear it.

"Technically, you already qualify. Seizures more than a week after an incident strongly indicate a chronic condition. If they've given you something that will help you, you shouldn't walk away from that."

"No! No, that's not it." He scrubbed his face with his hands and she wanted to hold him. She hated to be the one to tell him – obviously his doctors had been more optimistic than her literature suggested. And she'd hoped that maybe the unusual drug _was_ a new treatment, an effective treatment. But Jane wouldn't sugar-coat for him. If he was going to go noncompliant, he damn well needed to know the consequences.

He finally gave a soft chuckle, which became a full-throated laugh, tinged with frustration.

"I have no way to prove it to you, do I?" he said, almost to himself.

"Prove what?"

He gave her a long, exasperated once-over, then reached out a shaky hand to grab hers. He closed his eyes, still amused.

"Look, I need to call my people. My CO will know how to sort this out. She's the smartest person on the planet. She'll know what to do."

"Like take your meds?"

"Maybe," he replied coyly, and she knew he was playing her, but if he needed it to be an order, then she would play along.

She waited in the chair by the window, looking out at the pool while John paced on his cell phone. After the lengthy spat of codes and clearance questions, she did believe that he was involved with _something_ that required a lot of security. But, she'd never hung out with high brass very much either. That could just be normal. She caught him looking at her once or twice, and couldn't control her blush each time. She wished he'd put a shirt on – the soft sweat pants he was wearing, and nothing else, made it really hard for her to stay annoyed with him.

"Thank you," he said, finally sounding like he was talking to a person. "Can you transfer me to Colonel Samantha Carter? Multi-line, priority orange."

There was a pause and John's face went frustrated. He scrubbed the back of his hair with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.

"Then can I talk to Dr. Klein, infirmary. Same priority." Another pause, then he mouthed the word _Damn! _without speaking it. "Dr. Lam? Infirmary. Same priority."

A final pause and John sighed. "No. Thank you. When is Colonel Carter scheduled to return? Leave a _respond _request, this number. Priority Orange. End of orders."

John punched the line closed and tossed his cell onto the bed in a fit of frustration.

"Nobody home?" Jane asked, the question almost a challenge. She shared the _damn_. She'd really wanted someone in his chain of command to smack him around.

"No." He paced, ran his hands through his hair again, then winced and rubbed his temples. _Serves you right_, she thought but without venom. She was worried more than annoyed.

"It's Monday?" he asked after a thoughtful look crossed his face.

"It's Monday," Jane confirmed quirking her eyebrow. Now what was he on about? She was mostly waiting for him to burn out. To sit down and rest long enough for sense to kick in. His last mild seizure had really done a number on him, and she thought she understood: He was feeling better. It was easier to get hung up on hallucinations when you weren't simply fighting to sit upright.

"Eastern time?"

"Last time I checked the almanac," she answered dryly.

Instead of weary, however, John just went more intense. He leaped for his bags and dug through the clothes, finally exhuming a military issue laptop. He had to scramble again for the cord when he popped it open to a dead battery.

He thumped his thumbs on the bureau as he waited for it to boot and then she was sure he'd opened his email when he began typing.

"Get any good spam?" Jane asked, her voice tight, wondering if he was ever going to crash and if she needed to change tactics.

"I need to send an email to a friend back home. If Carter is, ah, overseas, then I can at least get McKay thinking about it. He's a scientist I work with, a friend, and also the smartest person on the planet."

"Second to your CO?" Jane asked, forcing the humor. John smiled slightly.

"No. Just a different planet."

"Oh...kaaaaay," she drawled.

"But I have to type fast. My base only dials in twice a week. If I miss the next one in about 4 hours, it won't go through until Friday. I need to send it asap."

_That_ was an odd comment, Jane thought. She'd had Skype on the front lines practically, two years ago. Where was this base that they had to "dial in" from? Why would anyone have to be cut off at all these days? John spent the next several minutes in furious concentration. Finally, he smacked the laptop shut, and stared at it for a long time.

"I hate waiting," he growled, looking lost.

Jane unfolded herself from the chair and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Then come to bed. You need to rest. Please?" she said.

John turned to face her, distracted only for as long as it took him to process the uneasiness on her face. His own expression softened, went almost fearful. The way he reached for her to pull him into his chest – as if he was afraid she was about to walk out on him – softened her own conflicted thoughts. He clutched at her for a long time, his hold tight, his breath quick. She stroked his back, reassuring him with touch that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Walk with me?" he asked abruptly, his breath tickling against her hair. "I need to walk. I need to be outside." He put his hands on her face, dipped and kissed her lightly to sweeten the offer.

"Fine," she breathed, still concerned, but willing. Maybe he'd pass out on the walk and she could tie him up long enough to stay in bed for the night. She returned the kiss, though, making him a counter offerwith the gesture. He grinned, a hint of determination or trickery or both in his eyes.

"Good, then get dressed." He ran his hands over her shoulders, his eyes admiring. "You can keep the shirt."

He snatched for his own clothes as she shimmied into her underclothes and pants. He dug again in his bag and came out with black cargo pants and standard issue boots. She was clearly wearing the shirt that matched the uniform clothing, so he grabbed for a grey civilian t-shirt with a cartoon Eskimo advertising a local Colorado bar on the front. He looked like a soldier from the waist down, a tourist from there up.

That about sums him up, she thought as he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the house and out the kitchen door. A man trapped halfway between two worlds and freaked out because of it.

It was a muggy night. Jane felt the humidity stirred by restless air dampen her hair almost immediately. She could feel the summer storm building in the southwest without seeing the wall of clouds that was blocking out half of the stars in the sky.

John kept her hand tight in his and turned down the path towards the front of the house and the long way around to the driveway before he began talking.

"I'm not crazy," he started, hesitantly, and Jane's fingers went fierce around his.

"Of course not! John, you're still recovering. You just need to trust your doctors."

"I do," he murmured with enough sincerity that she relaxed. "But they don't have all the facts. Jane, I work in a top-secret facility. So top secret that you'll probably have to sign something just for hearing what little I'm going to tell you right now."

"Oh-kaaay?" She was getting his scam, now. He was doing the walk and talk to convince her of...what she didn't know yet.

"We do _research_. Let's call it that. There are these things called parallel universes. They're alternate realities, sometimes just like ours, sometimes really different. A couple of weeks ago, this experiment went really bad and my team spent a day zapping from universe to universe before we figured out how to get home to ours again. To this one. It was a close call and I apparently hit my head in the escape from the ship that was dragging us around, just before it jumped to the next one."

"Ship?" Jane asked, not really understanding anything else in the sentences before. "You were on a boat?"

"Damn. Wasn't going to say that. Doesn't matter, though. What matters is that I think I was exposed to the hyperspace field of the alternate universe drive as we drifted, um, away. Somehow, I've made a connection, a _mental_ connection of some sort, with another universe. But not all the time. _Only when I'm near myself_."

"Only when you're near yourself," Jan repeated sarcastically. But John just got enthusiastic.

"Yeah! That's why it took so long to figure out. The seizures only happen when I overlap my double in the alternate universe. When we're occupying the same, or nearly the same, _place_ in both universes. My double probably has a really similar life, if not a similar backstory. We were at the same base, the same infirmary. We were on the same plane that brought us here. That first night and day I was the most sick, had the most vivid hallucinations, because he was in this house here, too." John was gesturing like he did when he was telling war stories and his face in the blue glow of the solar lights that lined the path around the house was triumphant between wary glances into the night around them. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the story as he understood it.

"But you said you saw your Dad. And you were talking crazy when you grabbed me in your room that night."

"Our paths diverged that night. His father, the other me's father in the other universe, is alive and a real sleazeball." John shook his head, his expression a bit harder, "Not that mine was any saint. But from what little I remember when we were connected – ."

"You were trying to escape your own house," Jane snorted.

"Exactly. His father wanted him to run the air operations of the family drug running business. So he ran. I stayed. I've been better ever since because he's been geographically distant from me in his universe. It's the _connection_ that makes me sick. The seizures are a symptom of the effect inside my head caused by exposure to the radiation on the…ship."

"And the medicine?" Jane asked tightly.

"My guess is they were treating the symptoms, trying to shut down the brain activity that was a symptom of these connections. It helped a little – my most intense connections were all at around the time I needed a new dose – but I was too sick to sort it all the way out. The docs didn't know what I know, now. But it's like treating pneumonia with cough syrup – I know the real problem now."

"But even if the medicine is just treating the symptoms, why not do that?"

"Because I need to connect." He looked over his shoulder, then peered around the corner of the house ahead of them before he stepped onto the first pebbles of the driveway.

Jane was confused and not sure how much longer she could play the intellectual game with John. If he was hallucinating, or had created a fantasy about parallel universes as a result of hallucinating, it was a damn well thought out one. She needed a hole in his story she could poke at to force him to consider the alternative. She was really wishing he weren't so damn smart so she could keep up. She took a deep breath, gave it a go.

"Why do you need to connect? Why not shut these connections down so you can just get better? Hell, why not double down and overdose on the stuff so you'll really be sure that you stay in your universe and this other guy stays in his."

John walked stiffly for several more steps, down the driveway and towards the road that ultimately ran along the front of the property.

"Because something bad is about to happen," he answered, finally.

"You said that before. Bad to you? Or bad to the…um, other you?" It was a little like playing ponies with her brother's daughter – you had to follow the logic of a five year old to be able to play along. And John's story was much more sophisticated.

Apparently she'd hit a nerve, because he went stiffer. "Bad for him, I'm sure."

"But…why do you care?" Maybe she had a wedge here she could work with, she thought, realizing that her evening had gone sideways in a very strange way. She hadn't expected to spend the evening talking him out of delusions. She looked at him hard, wondering if she should just...leave. Or get him help. _Objective_ help.

But as she studied his face in the dim shadows of subtle landscape lighting and starlight, she saw more than a damaged Colonel struggling with injury, the effects of medication and PTSD. Maybe it was because she was walking with him as a lover and a friend instead of as a nurse, but she realized he didn't have the expression of someone trying to convince _himself_ of anything.

In fact, between the moments of epiphany enthusiasm, he just looked wary, alert. She stopped and looked back the way they'd come. They'd walked almost all the way around the house and were now just a few feet from the road where there was a view of the whole house, the barn and the pastures beyond.

"Are you running a perimeter check?" she demanded all of a sudden. His sheepish look of _busted_ confirmed it.

"Look," he went very serious, very intense and he spoke as if she not only understood everything he'd just said, but as if she believed it. "Our universes are very similar. Too similar despite the obvious differences." The last came out a bit wry. "There's still overlap. The other me is really worried about Dave. He's been watching the house for a day. I've felt him just at the edge of our shared space since last night. I just…don't want to take any chances that I should be worried about my Dave, too."

He closed his eyes, turned his head as if listening for something. When he seemed to find it, he winced and swallowed hard, touching without grabbing her shoulder for balance. "He's close by now, too. He's down the road a ways, though. Close to that rural water treatment… Oh, crap," he whispered a heartbeat before Jane, unconsciously looking in the same direction John's head was turned, saw a flash of white light against the dark sky that reflected for an instant off the trees around them like a camera had gone off in the forest.

A deep crack, like a bass firecracker, rolled over the horizon an instant later. John jumped, looked around like he was surprised.

"That happened?" he croaked. "That happened here, too?"

Jane's heart was starting to thump. "John, what was that? Thunder?"

"Clouds are in the west. That came from the east." He suddenly grabbed her, spun her behind him and threw his chest to the West in a protective, defensive posture, then he froze, listening for something she couldn't see. Yet?

Another boom and flash on the western horizon flooded Jane with dread. She knew that sound, now.

"John, those are explosions. A bomb, or, or landmines or something." She immediately told herself that there were no landmines in Maryland, but she was scared. She was flashing back to Afghanistan. That time when their clinic was almost overrun and she'd stayed to stabilize a soldier who couldn't be moved...

"Do you have your cellphone," John demanded, sounding calm but assertive.

"Yes."

"Check the signal."

John's solid presence steadied her. She tugged her ancient flip phone out of her pocket (like she was going to walk around in the dark with a concussed semi-lucid lover without it, duh). It didn't get great bars anywhere, but tonight...

"No bars. Says no signal."

"Cell towers," John murmured. "They took out the cell towers."

"John, who the hell is _they_?"

"Damned if I know!" he sighed, though it was wary. He tensed, listening with his eyes closed again. "There's a car parked down the road. Black POS."

Jane narrowed her eyes. She couldn't see a car, but he grabbed her hand, crouched low and, Jane following suit, they crept along the neat, tidy boxwoods on their side of the road until, sure enough, they could see it around a gentle bend in the road. The car – a crappy old sedan of some sort, was off the road, its right wheels in the soft grass of the ditch beside it. It was completely dark.

John dropped to one knee, studying the car for a long time.

"Maybe it just broke down," Jane offered. She could feel the tension radiating from John like a water heater in the winter, but they were in _Maryland_. Not Afghanistan. Not wherever John...came from.

"No. They're there to watch the road. To keep anyone from leaving." His voice had gone very tense and Jane slapped her hand to his throat when she saw his brow glisten with sudden sweats. His pulse was pounding.

"John, your heart rate is racing. You're on the verge of a seizure."

"I know," he gasped. "He's too close. He's on the other side of the road, moving towards the sedan. He's the one who spotted it first."

"He?" she demanded.

"The other me. In the other universe," John whispered, taking a deep breath as if forcing control.

Jane felt her whole perspective slipping. _God fucking damn. Was he right?! Was he really connected – or whatever bullshit – to some double in some alternate reality where the same shit was going down? How else could he have known about the car? How else had he anticipated the explosions?_

How else? There were a dozen _real _explanations, but he was so certain. She shook her head, trying to understand, then found him looking at her face with an expression of deep sympathy. He touched her cheek, briefly.

"Messed up shit, isn't it?" he said with a rueful nod. "If stuff like this didn't happen to me all the time, I wouldn't believe it, either." He scrubbed his hands on his pants, then scrubbed at the back of his hair and Jane got the impression he was thinking, hard.

"Do you have a weapon?" he asked at last.

"What? Um, Yeah. .44 in my glove box. But John, you can't just start shooting at parked cars in Maryland. They could be bad guys, in that other guy's universe, but are you sure, _really sure_, they're bad guys here?"

"Good. I'm glad you agree," he smirked and she suddenly felt played.

"With what?"

"Get your weapon out of your car, then go back to the house. Find Dave and put him somewhere safe. The rec room is pretty secure. Call 911 on the landline if you can and tell them...anything. About the explosions. That you saw someone on the property, whatever. We need backup here. Some cops tooling around should deter anyone who cares about getting caught."

"What are _you_ doing?" she demanded.

"I'm going to check out that car."

"John!"

"It's like you said. We need to know if there's a threat here."

"But you're - ." she stopped herself when his face went cold and his body suddenly felt distant.

"I'm fine," he said. "Will you go? Will you get Dave?"

Jane thought for an instant about arguing. But John's face was set. His posture was cocky. He had the look of a man who was going to do what he wanted to do whether you agreed or not.

"I'll put Dave in a cave," she said, using the slang of her unit for "a temporary, but safe hidey-hole".

"Good. Thank you," John whispered, and his gratitude was genuine. "I'll meet you there in a few minutes. Go!"

He gave the command like an officer in the field, and Jane tore off down the driveway like a first year cadet, such was the authority in his tone. It was only as she was scrambling for the key to unlock her glove box that she realized she hadn't said "be careful".

* * *

John watched Jane dash up the drive and turn the corner to the house before he sank to the grass with a groan, clutching his head like he wanted to pull it off. Being close to his double hurt like hell. He was learning, slowly, how to keep the nausea and shakes from overwhelming him, but he'd decided a few minutes ago that staying a few yards away gave him the best advantage – he could catch flashes of what the double was seeing, but not jump in the guy's head completely or quite so painfully.

Apparently, his twin had a similar idea, because he moved further off the road and towards the car, easing the tension in John's head. John forced himself to his feet and ran in the same direction on the opposite side of the road. He crouched again when he, they?, were level with the car. A flicker of motion inside, a shadow against the driver's window brought a drop of dread to John's gut. Someone _was_ watching.

He was content to sit and just watch back, but his double had other plans. John felt incredible pressure as his other self rushed the car. John was driven to his knees as he found himself suddenly inside the guy's head. With a strange kind of double vision, he was looking both at the quiet, boring sedan in his universe and at the same time, he was smashing open the window in the other one with the butt of a _holy shit_ M16 rifle, then leveling a Beretta, military issue 9mm at the startled men inside.

"No!" John cried to himself, but himself didn't listen and opened up. The men slumped and AU himself holstered his 9mm and jogged back the way he'd come.

John collapsed, shaking as the pressure eased again. His other self was...um, a badass. Before he could go too far down a philosophical rabbit hole, John had far more to worry about. He dropped to his belly behind the bushes he was peering through then froze, his heart pounding, this time, from fear. The door of the car opened, and two men stepped out, both holding handguns.

John watched as the men spoke softly to each other, then one waved the other in his direction.

"What are you so nervous about? Sheppard has no idea we're coming."

"No, but he might have hired security."

_What the hell? _John thought, completely confused. Why would anyone be coming after Dave? He needed to get to the house. To make sure Jane had him locked away.

"Check the ditch and the bushes. I'm sure I heard someone shout."

But first, he had to deal with these guys. And unlike his double, he wasn't packing an M16 and a Berretta. The one who'd given the order, propped his hip up on the hood of the car, watching, but casually, while his lackey did as told. Thank god. John could deal with one at a time.

Very, very carefully, John brought his knees up under him, locked his toes into the grass below him. His eyes had adjusted to the shadows and he had the light advantage – the glare of the distant security spotlights at the edges of Dave's property would be in the guy's eyes as he faced the bushes John was behind.

The guy sauntered closer, halfheartedly peering over the hedgerow here and there. John waited until he could see the man's boots, and then he leaped. With a vicious thrust, John slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, then fell with him when the guy grunted in surprise and toppled backwards.

Even as they landed, John on top of the man's chest, he was wrenching the man's gun out of his hand and pivoting to level it at the boss. Luck was on John's side. The bossman was so shocked, that John got his knee into the downed man's throat and his aim steady on the other before either could counter.

"Drop it!" John commanded, hearing his own voice go gravelly. He had a feeling that these two weren't the professionals – they were either overseeing the operation, or most likely hired thugs of the basic variety. Local bar types – flannel shirts and steel-toe boots included. Bossman hesitated, so John shifted, shutting off his henchman's air supply. The man gagged and scrabbled futilely at John's knee. "Drop it – or he's dead," John repeated.

Bossman scowled, then did as he was told. John sighed in relief. He'd really kind of thought the guy wouldn't care that much about his partner.

Without telegraphing his intentions, John suddenly shoved himself across the road, snatched for the 2nd handgun and leveled one at each thug.

"Open the trunk," he ordered next. A flicker of relief crossed the bossman's face and John felt a grim smile tug at his lips. They were intimidated by him. Good. John bullied both men into the trunk, happily removing a rifle and a box of ammunition, first. When they were complacently looking up at him, he stuffed one handgun into the waistband of his pants, leveled the other at bossman's face. A flash of terror crossed the man's face and John grinned, amused.

"Why are you here?" John demanded. Nervous stubbornness crossed the man's face so John shrugged, slowly checked the safety, then wrapped both hands around the grip as if to fire.

"Wait! We're just watching the road. Some guy paid us to watch and run anyone who goes by off the road."

"What guy?"

"I don't know, I swear."

"What do they want with my brother?" John snarled, feeling frustrated rage flush his face.

"Brother?" the thug stammered.

"David Sheppard. What do they want with him? What is going on? What is going on _tonight_?"

"I don't know. We were just supposed to watch the road. We were told that Sheppard would be home tonight, that the only people in the house would be an invalid and his nurse and not to let anyone leave."

John glared, then reluctantly decided that this guy didn't know any of the big picture. He lifted one arm to the trunk lid.

"You just got your asses handed to you by that _invalid_ in the house, boys. Next time, make sure your handlers have their facts straight."

With that he slammed the trunk shut, pretty sure that the car was so old it wouldn't have an escape latch that modern cars did. It would take them a while to get out. Hopefully not until help – the cops or Sheriff or whoever – arrived, but arresting the thugs wasn't his priority. He had to get Dave bunkered in before whatever was planned went down. At least he was armed for a siege, he thought, pleased with his haul of two handguns and a rifle.

As he jogged down the road he felt around mentally for his double. The badass John was at the edges again, off in the direction of the barns. Good for him. _This_ badass John was going to lock himself in the rec room with Dave and Jane and whoever else happened to be on the property and watch movies with a rifle on his lap until the cops showed up.

He turned onto the drive and was only halfway to the house when Jane came into view, looking suddenly very badass herself as she stalked the road with her own small .44 locked in a ready grip, her head on a swivel. John's heart wrenched.

"Where's Dave?" he demanded, drawing up close. Jane's face was calm, but severe – the look of a soldier in combat. Her eyes widened in surprise then went impressed when she spotted his newly acquired arsenal.

"David's not in the house, John. I searched every damn room. And John," her eyes suddenly flickered with fear, and John reached out to grip her arm feeling a thrill, himself. "The phones are out. Landline, cell. I even tried email – satellite internet's out, too," she finished.

John closed his eyes and nodded, that drop of dread swelling to a whole damn bucket of it.

"We're cut off," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

Jane watched John punch the air, then walk in a tight circle. "Did you talk to Dave when you got here this evening?" he growled, running his hand through his hair, his expression a controlled mask of frustration and fear.

Jane nodded, the gesture sharp, succinct. "Of course. It seemed...appropriate to knock on the front door when one drops in for a visit."

"Did he say anything about leaving? Going out?"

"No, just that you were out back and that he'd be in his office." David's look when he answered the door had been an amusing mixture of surprise and exasperation. She'd wondered if he would object to her being there – he'd been the employer after all, but he'd just waved her to the patio with a wry smirk and a roll of the eyes.

John closed his eyes briefly, winced slightly. "The barns," he said, his voice raspy. "My double is over by the barns."

He undid the safeties on both handguns, loaded a bullet into the chamber of each, then ran through a check on the rifle. Jane could see that is was a crappy, badly maintained POS, but he could probably get a few decent shots out of it, she thought. Especially because he looked pretty damn competent. Her guesses about him working in the field were bearing out, and then some.

When he smacked the bolt into place and swung the rifle over his shoulder, he then lifted his chin and turned to her. She felt a knot of nerves in her gut clench tightly as she guessed what he was going to say.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, his voice struggling to stay nonchalant. He had the body language of a man who could care less either way, but his eyes were imploring. He really needed her, she thought. He needed someone he trusted who could handle a weapon and follow a damn order and she felt a flutter of pleasure in that trust.

But still, she hesitated. There was something going on. And she trusted her gut when that something felt like bad news. But it was too bizarre for her to get her head around. At least in Afghanistan, you had an idea who your enemy was some of the time. Here they were fighting shadows and phantoms in John's head.

"I'm...I"m sorry," he said and looked away. "I had no right to ask you that. It's my family. My problem."

"Where we going?" she barked, interrupting him. _In for a penny_, she thought and brought her own gun into a two-handed grip and cocked her shoulder to indicate her readiness.

John's grin of relief and something else that she'd have to address later (in bed) was worth the price of admission. By way of answer, he jogged off the drive and cut across manicured lawn towards the horse barns.

"My double has been scouting the area for a day, so if he's got some reason to be out by the barns, then we should check it out, too."

"Can you see what he sees over there...yet?" she asked, realizing it was the strangest question she'd ever asked in a tactical situation.

"No. He's still at the edges. Past the barns. I want to check out the stables in any case, make sure that there isn't anyone in there that shouldn't be."

They jogged in silence for several paces. "Nice haul, by the way," she said gesturing at the rifle slung over his shoulder. John grinned.

"The guys I got them from didn't need them any more."

"You didn't...?" she trailed off, almost afraid of his answer. They were in _Maryland!_

"Nah. They were amateurs. I just had to look scary and they dropped them at my feet."

Jane chortled, though she'd been around the block enough to know that bravado could only go so far. She kept on, deciding she didn't really want to know.

Jane eventually realized she was checking her pace to keep from outrunning John. He moved with confidence and grace, but the easy, slow jog looked like harder work than it should be for him. A tickle of worry nudged at her conscience. She was going as much to keep an eye on him as to help him, she determined.

The barn was a beautiful palace for the half-dozen or so prize horses that the Sheppards kept. Each stable opened out onto a wide pasture of at least ten acres. The straw that lay thick in each was clean and fresh and the barn's offices and walkways were scrubbed concrete.

John crept up to the main entrance of the barns, near where the tidy office and veterinary station were located. The wooden inner door was open, leaving only the screen door closed against bugs and four-legged critters. He crouched and paused just outside for a long moment, listening. A single light was on in the barn and the horses were snuffing softly in their pens, locked up for the night against coyotes and idiot equine missteps.

At last, he lifted a hand, waved the command to follow him into the building. Jane nodded acknowledgement and tensed, preparing herself to fire if she found herself facing the wrong end of a barrel on the other side of the door. John pulled open the screen door, staying low, then crept inside. Jane followed, close on his heels.

The door to the office was also open carelessly, the fluorescent lighting shining brightly. It looked very much like the groomer, charged with caring for the basic needs of the horses and the grounds, had simply left for a few minutes on an errand. John threw her a look and Jane shrugged.

For the next few minutes, they searched the barn thoroughly and found absolutely nothing amiss. Aside from the horses themselves that seemed restless, with much blowing and foot stomping, the barn was empty and quiet.

"Nobody here," John murmured at last, standing for a moment in agitated easiness.

"That's good, right? No bad guys?"

"I'd only call it good with Dave looking at me all pissed off for sneaking around and checking up on him," John quipped back.

Jane wandered to the opposite door of the barn that led out into the pasture. The clouds had darkened the sky further as they searched and her eyes weren't adjusted to the dark anymore, but she thought she saw something twinkling? a hundred yards away, in the middle of the field.

"John? Do you think _he_ could be sneaking around in that field out there?" John rushed over, weapon raised. "Someone's walking around out there with flashlights. Two someones."

John studied the twinkles, relaxed just a bit. "Whoever is walking around doesn't seem worried about being spotted. Do you think?"

"David? And the groomer, maybe?"

John's expression went grim. "Let's go find out."

She followed him again as he led the way out of the barn and over the dark grassy earth. John was nearly invisible in the gloom, his heather-grey shirt glowing only slightly brighter than the landscape around them. Jane was wearing John's black t-shirt, so she also felt like a ghost.

They heard idle chatting as they drew closer at a fast(ish) trot.

"Not like Thunder to miss his chow."

"Has he seemed ill at all?"

_David_! Jane thought, recognizing the voice, her heart leaping with hope. What the hell was he doing walking around in the middle of a field in the middle of the night?

"Never. Got into trouble just this morning for dumping his feed trough."

"Try another whistle."

A piercing blast made Jane twitch. She was concentrating so hard on being stealthy, that the whistle made her feel like she'd been compromised.

She looked at John to see if he was relieved, but while his shoulders had gone from stealthy to purposeful, his strides were angry.

"Here! Oh lordy! Poor beast!"

The first voice, just a few yards ahead of them stopped abruptly and Jane could see his flashlight aimed at the ground, illuminating a large lump of chestnut. The second light bobbed closer as they did.

John and Jane reached the groomer, kneeling over the motionless body of a beautiful brown horse with a black mane, about the same time as David.

"What the _hell_ are you doing out here?" John barked so fiercely that Jane almost jumped as high as David.

"John! For gods sake, you scared the piss out of me."

Jane almost snorted at the coarse language she'd never yet heard out of John's formal and proper brother.

"That makes two of us. Answer the question," John snarled.

Jane saw John plant himself next to his brother and begin a slow sweep of the field around them, his eyes roaming the empty space. His weapon was at his side, but his finger was resting on the trigger guard.

Jane went to the other side of David and found herself next to the dead horse and the groomer that was extremely distressed.

"Oh, Thunder lad! What happened to you? Mr. Sheppard, I swear he was fit as a fiddle this morning. Saw him scampering around with Switch just before sunset." Curiosity got the better of Jane, and she crouched at the animal's head to see if she could help figure out why the horse had died. David and John, however, weren't paying a swot of attention to them.

"Answer what question? John, what are you and Ms. Lammerford doing skulking around in my pasture. My god, with _weapons_?" David exclaimed as John brought his up in an idle gesture of frustration.

"Dave, you need to get back in the house. Right now."

"I'm not going anywhere until you put that damn gun away."

"Dave, I don't have time to explain. Short answer is: You're not safe. Come with me so I can get you to a secure location."

"Secure... John, this is my house. _My_ property. Have you gone insane?"

"Did you _not_ hear the explosions a few minutes ago while you were traipsing around, unprotected, in a god damn field?"

"Of course we heard them. Paper's been going on about illegal fireworks in the hands of kids for days. And these animals are my responsibility. If taking care of them means traipsing around in a field, that's what I do, John."

Jane tuned out the bickering and concentrated on the horse. She didn't know a damn thing about animals, but the beast's eyes – locked open in an unseeing stare – were clear. No mucus or swollen tissues, so not illness. It was going stiff, but _rigor mortis_ hadn't set in. The shaky flashlight revealed a streak of dark hair along the sleek forelegs, so Jane gestured to get the groomer to shine the light on its chest.

"Dave, please. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just do what I'm telling you and go the eff inside!"

Jane could hear John's frustration and Dave's stubbornness. She would have to intervene soon, but she wanted to check this one last thing out...

"Jesus, John!"

"John!" Jane interrupted loudly and stood up fast, securing her grip on her weapon. Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest and the dark seemed to press in around her like a suffocating blanket. "John, the horse was shot."

She spared a glance at David whose face went white with shock. John also raised his weapon, sharing her urgency.

"With what?" he demanded.

"Can't say, but the entry wound is between the forelegs, point blank on the heart. This poor thing was executed."

"To lure you out here in the middle of an open field," John summarized, speaking directly to his brother, his voice trembling with suppressed fury or anxiety, Jane couldn't tell. "Dave. Go inside. Now." He bit out every word and David blanched, nodded weakly.

John's expression just almost flickered with relief. "Turn off the flashlights. Stay together... No!"

John's order ended with a cry of anguish and Jane whipped around from bullying the groomer to his feet.

Centered neatly over David's left breast pocket, glowing like a coal on his crisp, white shirt, shone a tiny red point of light.

* * *

"No!" John screamed and he flung himself at Dave.

At the same him, his head exploded with pain and he _felt_ his double slam into his brain with the most excruciating shared connection he'd yet experienced. Together, John and the AU John plowed Dave into the ground just as the crack of a rifle shot echoed over the muggy meadow. The impact against his mind was so forceful, so hard, that he almost didn't notice the impact against his side that felt like someone had punched him in the ribs.

He groaned and rolled off of Dave, tried to push himself to his knees, but collapsed, face-first into the cool grass when a violent wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He dry retched then swallowed hard to stop himself.

"John, lie still. You've been shot," he heard Jane's panicky and controlled voice at his ear, but he groaned again, pushed himself off the ground again and shook his head.

"No time. Get Dave to stable," he gasped.

He managed to work his ways to his knees and forced himself to look around. It was the weirdest experience yet – he saw two of _everything_. Wait, _almost_. There were two Daves, overlapping so closely that it looked like when you watched a 3-D movie without the glasses and everything was just a tad blurry in crazy ways. The landscape was also strangely doubled – two barns, two dead horses, two freaked out groomers.

But there was only one Jane, crouched beside him, her hand pressed firmly against his side just behind his right elbow. And there was one..._Dad_. Patrick Sheppard hovered where John had rolled off Dave, tugging at his son and creating wider variations on the Dave image.

"Good God, John," Patrick called with a sneer. "You have balls coming here. Get the hell off my property."

"I just saved Dave's life, _Dad_," John spat back with an equally ferocious sneer. "Or didn't you notice that the cartel's hit squad just tried to take out your son."

The words and venom came from badass-John's mind and lips, but John must have spoken them out loud because Jane's eyes went wide.

"John," she whispered, looking nervously at Dave, _his_ Dave, who was frozen on the ground, looking terrified. "Are you...do you see _him_ again?"

"He's...me. We're...connected," he ground out and he had the strangest feeling that the other John was fighting to keep the words out of his own mouth, but also that his awareness wasn't as keen as John's. His AU double was affected by being connected – he'd been grounded and sent home, too, after all. But John seemed to suffer more from the effects.

_I can handle the cartel. What I can't abide are traitors._

John, _both Johns_, shoved themselves to their feet and it was a bit like standing on a moving sidewalk. The connection was so strong, John felt almost like he was half being pulled along by the other guy.

"Dave stay down and still for just a little longer. Play dead."

"John," Jane began, her voice going pleading. She'd risen with him, her hand still slapped over his side.

"How bad is it?" he asked, trying to focus on her, on _his _reality. "I can't...feel it."

_Nice, Dad. I'm going to get Dave's ass to a safe place before I get off your property, so you can accept the help from a traitor and shut the fuck up, or stand out here in the meadow and let them start shooting at you, too._

"It's a deep graze. Not too bad. But I need to get a bandage on it to stop the bleeding." Jane answered. He was learning how not voice the other guy's words in his own universe, but it was hard to keep up. Both of him were watching the group of people and the emptiness around them, alert to any movement.

John unshouldered his rifle and wrapped the strap around his forearm but he was suddenly distracted by a glow on his own chest. "I'll be damned," he whispered before he bellowed, "Down!"

He leaned into Jane to get her further away as he went down and realized that the AU John was doing the same thing, moving in the exact same space, but it was his father that he was protecting.

He hit the dirt on his hip, then had a sudden inspiration. He grabbed in the grass, tore up a handful of soft green leaves, and threw it into the air. The confetti-like cuttings separated and blew away in the nighttime gusts, but a few caught the sparkle of red. Enough to draw a dotted line back to the source.

John zeroed in on the spot across the field just as the bullet that was following the line whistled past. His heart started to thump – the line led straight as an arrow to the spot where he'd found the footprint yesterday. Or was that only earlier today? They'd been scouting their ambush. And his double had been scouting them.

"Jane. Get these guys to the barn. Do you know sniper evasion patterns?"

_Fred, get Dave and my father to the barns, _his double was saying to the groomer and John had the strange thought that it was a bit disconcerting to realize that the same plan he was forming in his head sounded really crazy when someone else was planning it. It was probably a good thing he didn't think too much when he was fighting.

"Run like a drunk," Jane confirmed, answering his question. "Long range makes even small degrees of change difficult to track. But,"

"Good," John interrupted firmly. He looked around, no red dot, so he scrambled to his feet, readied the rifle again.

_But John, they've got us pinned down. The laser...! _Dave in the other reality sounded like a whiny baby, John in this one decided.

"These guys are no professionals. Red laser sights are toys. Amateur. You'll make it. Get to the barn. Lock it down tight. Let the horses out if you have to, but they'll be good watchdogs if you don't." John answered for both realities.

"Where...?" The question was hard in Jane's eyes.

John managed a grin, "I'm going to see a man about a horse. Go."

John turned and began to stalk towards the edge of the pasture and the road, only relaxing when he heard Jane bellowing Dave to his feet and the swish of their footsteps could be heard moving away from him towards the barns. His head was aching and nausea had such a firm hold on him that swallowing spit nearly made him retch, but he tuned in to his double's vision and realized that they were still occupying the same space – following the same plan.

He risked a glance back and saw the group still moving towards the stables, a clear and singular Jane being shadowed by a phantom Patrick Sheppard.

"So, what now, friend?" he asked of his double, but despite the agonizing connection, there was no _communication_. John suddenly wondered if the other guy had any clue about the parallel universe thing. He decided just to do what he needed to do in this universe and hope their paths diverged again. His head pulsed with a particularly bad flare of awful. Diverge _soon_.

The bang of the sniper's rifle startled him into full adrenaline, and he returned fire, aiming two rounds blindly at the bushes and a third at the road to kick up a ricochet and make an impression. He glanced back, saw his group still moving steadily off the pasture, then dug in his pocket for the ammo he'd stashed earlier and reloaded on the run. Damn thing only had a 5 round capacity.

He was a few dozen yards from the white pasture fencing when the red dot splashed against his chest again. John gasped, feeling his heart pound in his chest, but he kept running headlong into the dot. It was time to make another kind of impression.

"Come the hell out and throw your weapon on the road or I'll blow your head off." John followed the bellow with four rounds into the bushes, concentrating as hard as he could on his aim while running a zigzag pattern. Sweat beaded his brow, his heart was thrashing in his chest, but he kept his hands steady, his muzzle locked onto the shadow of the bushes across the road. The dot had disappeared as he'd expected: The loser behind the gun wasn't able to take a clean shot under fire. He continued forward like a crazy man, hoping the sight of a charging psychopath would convince the sniper to bail.

He slowed as he reached the white pasture fencing and pulled a handgun out of his waistband. With a smooth motion, he fired into the bushes, hopped the fence hoping that the guy was ducking while he was vulnerable, got his feet under him and fired a couple more times for good measure.

There was no return fire, no red dot, and John felt a surge of hope. He'd bluffed the guy out. He was still careful when he dashed across the road and crashed into the bushes at the spot where the mud puddle had turned to a dirt puddle. The frantic rustle of bushes to his right brought a smile. The guy was running.

John followed at a crouch. When they had reached a spot just past where Dave's driveway spilled onto the road from the other side, the sniper panicked and turned into the open pasture of the neighboring ranch. John pulled up, watched the guy run pell mell out into the open in a completely stupid move. Definitely amateur. John watched the sniper blur and double as he sighted along the rifle barrel, the other reality interfering with his aim. No, the other John was just aiming somewhere else.

"Stop there and drop your rifle," John ordered again. The sniper froze in his tracks, lifted his arms, grasping his weapon harmlessly in one hand. John sighed in relief for only as long as it took him to realize that his hands weren't lowering his own weapon as he'd intended.

_What the?_

Dragged along by his double, his barrel steadied on the man's back and his finger pulled the trigger. "Crap!" John breathed, managing to jerk the gun away from his double enough to spoil the shot in his universe. The sniper flopped to the ground. One variation landed face first and lay still in a flat sprawl. The other variation – the one in John's universe – lay clutching at his thigh, rolling and moaning.

John joined his double in jogging to the sniper and snatching up the rifle, which was a lot nicer than the POS he held – not nearly as nice as the M16 his double held. He stood for a long time looking down at the sniper and wondering what the hell he should do next. His hands were shaking and though the fear from the encounter was fading, his heart was racing and he felt sweat on his face drip onto his lips.

Deciding he would make sure Dave and Jane had made it to the barn, and then run to a neighbor's to call in backup, he turned back towards the road. "Stay put. Someone will come for you eventually," he murmured to the wounded sniper.

He paused in the hedgerow before walking out onto the road and it was a good thing he did. Another car, this one a lot fancier than the thugs', was gliding slowly along the road past the pasture and towards him. The bosses, coming to make sure the job was done, he thought. The car stopped briefly, then turned into Dave's driveway and John grit his teeth when it began tooling up the drive towards the house.

"Damn."

He crept out onto the road and saw men standing on it in each direction, looking wary and armed to the teeth – sentries to keep anyone from leaving the property over the fields. John crept passed, then skulked along the drive until he could cut over to the barn. The lights were out and he felt a flush of relief. Jane was pretty damn good at this. He crouched in the shadows at the corner, looking back at Dave's house. More men were moving along the porch.

It just got better and better. They were cut off. And now they were boxed in. Great. He was _so_ going to tell Carter "I told you so".

If he got out of this mess alive.

* * *

Samantha Carter walked through the Stargate into the SGC looking forward to nothing more than a shower and a long nap. It was late, local time, even though she was back earlier than scheduled. The time she'd saved negotiating the treaty, though, would save lots of lives. Dr. Klein looked just as weary when he emerged behind her, but his face was satisfied. His work in explaining and demonstrating the medical equipment they'd offered in trade had kicked the process from hopeful into success.

"Good night, doctor," she murmured as he and the rest of the negotiation team wandered wearily to the changing rooms.

She hung back, making sure everyone made it through and was just about to turn in herself when the only-recently closed 'gate began to groan and shake with an inbound connection. She looked at her watch. It was _really_ late. Their team was the only unit that the SGC was expecting as far as she knew. But she'd been offworld for a day, so...

She stood at the end of the ramp, watching the SOs position themselves for invasion as they did every incoming wormhole. A technician's voice blared over the speakers, counting the locked chevrons until the wormhole splashed and there was that tense moment of anticipation that one never got over – even after twelve years in the program.

"IDC confirmed. Atlantis party coming through," the technician announced. Sam was so surprised, her mouth was still gaping when Rodney and Ronon stalked through the event horizon and walked right up to her, as if they'd expected her to be standing there waiting for them.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Rodney's look was anxious, Ronon's fierce...but then that was par for the course for both of them.

"We made a mistake, Sam," Rodney said by way of answer looking sheepish and worried all at the same time. "We should never have sent him out there by himself."

"Who? Where?" Sam was too tired to sort any of this out without specifics.

"Sheppard. He's in trouble," Ronon rumbled succinctly.

"John? But he's on leave at his brother's house. How –?"

"We were wrong about the effects of the Lost Daedalus's AU drive on him. We were wrong about how to treat it. Sam, we've got to get to him before...something really bad happens."

Sam nodded sharply, accepting the concern even before she understood everything. She spent too long on Atlantis not to trust its team. She waved them out of the gateroom and towards her office, even as she began to probe for details.

"What kind of something really bad are we talking about Rodney?" She had to admit, she couldn't even imagine what he might be talking about.

"John got an email through tonight's weekly check in. He told me he thinks that he's somehow connected, mentally, with his double in an alternate reality – that it's that connection that made him sicker than the concussion should have made him, and that he can see into the other reality when the two of them, the two Sheppards, are in close proximity."

"Is that even possible?" Sam asked, though her brain was churning through the calculations to answer the question for herself. Rodney nodded, and she realized that he'd likely already gone through the same process.

"I went back over his medical records that Jennifer has on file and ran some simulations. I don't understand the medical stuff, but she confirms the observation that the unusual brain activity we observed and tried to treat is similar to the signatures of the AU drive – a sort of chemical interpretation of the hyperspace energy signature. We missed it, Sam. We missed it and let him go wander around alone out there with his head being jerked between two alternate realities!"

Rodney was working himself into a fit of the guilts, so Sam decided to smack him into solutions mode. It was a trick she'd learned from John. "So, how do we fix it? The beta-blockers that Dr. Klein and Jennifer came up with seemed to be helping. Do we need to up the dose even more?"

"Jennifer's looking into it. We came to Earth because John's email also mentioned something about his AU self being in trouble and trying to...help him."

Sam stopped walking to stare at Rodney. "He said...what?"

"Um, it didn't make a lot of sense – the man really needs to pay more attention to his pronouns – but the gist was that his AU was expecting some kind of attack. And that's what worries me."

"Why?" Sam was running catch-up, so she just let McKay go.

"Because both Jennifer and I postulate that the effects of any traumatic injury on one of them could adversely affect the other when John and his AU are connected, to keep using John's word for it. Worse, if John's AU is killed – god forbid – then... it could kill our John, too. Like that movie. Where when you die in your dream?"

"You die for real," Sam finished with a nervous sigh. John was SO going to tell her _I told you so_.

* * *

Jane bit her lip as she stared sideways out the window set in the door that faced the dark and unrevealing pasture. Behind her, David and the groomer were arguing nervously over the best way to pound shoeing nails through cabinet doors that she'd told them to put over the one small window in the office. Not only was it a useful task – she could stop worrying about that line of ingress – but it also kept them busy. And busy men were less fearful.

She, however, had plenty of time to worry. Worry about the rifle fire she'd heard as they ran. Then again as they were locking the stable down and killing the lights. She'd almost been relieved when a final, solo shot cracked through the barn's drafty paneling. That meant John was still alive and causing trouble. But it had been quiet for several minutes, since, and she couldn't squash the fear that that single shot had been meant for John.

Restless, she moved to the other door and looked towards the house. Though it was dark behind her and there was no way they could possibly see her, she still almost ducked at the sight of a black luxury car in the driveway and shadows moving over the lights on the porch. God, damn, what the hell was she supposed to do now, _Colonel_?

A soft tap on the pasture door sent her scrambling back across the barn, her .44 tight in sweaty palms. David and the groomer also froze, staring at her with wide, scared eyes.

"John?" she called at the doorframe, hoping she was right.

"Yeah. I've got those groceries you wanted," he replied, sounding sarcastic.

She just flung open the door and stepped aside to let him prowl past. She could feel heat radiating from him as he entered the barn, his warm skin slick with sweat and adrenaline, his shirt soaked with blood from the elbow down on the right side. He handed her yet another rifle after he'd searched the entire space with his eyes.

He then went to the other window to peer out at the men walking around the house, twisting his own rifle in his hands.

"How bad is it?" she asked, touching him lightly to let him know she was close. He was charged up, in an adrenal state that might startle easily and wasn't easily distracted from the threat. She'd treated men in that state even after evac and arrival at the clinic. They'd sometimes have to sedate soldiers to get close enough to work on them.

"I took out the sniper," he answered, his voice constricted, his words terse. "There are at least four more watching the road and the pastures. I saw five get out of the car at the house. We've got about ten minutes before they stop searching the house and start looking over here."

"Then let me patch you up, Colonel. That graze is too deep to close up without help."

"What?" John looked confused for a second, so she gently pushed him down on a decorative milking stool next to the window, so he could keep watch and sit at the same time. She'd already raided the veterinarian's cabinet and filled her pockets with gauze and tape and a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitizer, the kind that was mostly alcohol. The tape would hurt like hell coming off – being the kind meant to stick to horse hair – but it was better than blood loss, however minor, and infection.

"Oh, right," he breathed. "Still can't really...feel it."

"Sometimes shock's a blessing," she agreed, though silently she added _but not this time_. His pulse thundered at his throat, and the beads of sweat on his forehead weren't entirely from exertion. His blood pressure was skyrocketing, and that in itself was pretty damn dangerous.

She peeled the bloody shirt away from the gouge and wiped at the thick crust of blood sticking to his skin below the wound, then slapped an alcohol soaked wad of gauze against the torn flesh without warning.

"Shit!" John growled, but Jane shushed him and started talking to distract him from the sting.

"So there are nine guys out there looking for us. Do we have any idea why, yet?"

"That's a really good question, Dad. I...mean Jane. Why don't we ask _Dave_?"

Jane threw him a look at the slip, saw his face in the dim glow of the window flickering with expression, as if he was holding a second conversation at the same time, but she couldn't see or hear it. "Why are these people after you?" he continued firmly, with a hint of sarcasm. She glanced up to see David standing beside them, looking at John with something between horror and admiration.

"John, what's...going on?" David asked, sounding uncertain. He clearly wasn't used to having to depend on anyone else so completely. John snorted.

"What's going on is that someone just hired a sniper and a hit squad to take you out. What are you into that you're not telling me?"

"Nothing! I...what?!" David sounded so shocked and confused and pathetic, Jane decided she believed him.

"You don't know?" John sighed softly, coming to the same conclusion. "You really don't know." He closed his eyes and scrubbed his face while Jane slapped a strip of gauze over the graze and began to tape it down. "Ok. Let's think this through," he sighed, working hard to keep his temper, Jane could tell.

"What happens to the company if you die?" John asked, dispassionately, but David's eyes widened. He ran his hands through his hair and Jane almost giggled with nerves at the gesture that looked so much like his brother's habit.

"Um, if I die, you get the company, John. It's a sole proprietorship. I'm majority investor and those investments will all transfer to you if I...die."

It was John's turn to stare and go speechless in shock. "I...get the company," he stammered. "Holy crap, Dad set that up?"

"Um, no. I did. After Dad died. I know he didn't leave you much and I know you hate the company but I...wanted you to be taken care of if anything happened to me."

"Oh, god," John groaned and buried his face in his hands. He began to chuckle, then his shoulders were shuddering with suppressed laughter. "We are going to talk about this later," he gasped at last, then took a deep breath. He threw Jane a hopeless grin that she returned. She understood. Running a business sounded like capital punishment to people like her and John.

"What happens to the company if you and I _both_ die. Suddenly. At the same time," he added, his tone going mocking.

"The company assets would be liquidated. The investors would receive their return on investment and the rest would go to several charities I have specified in my will."

John nodded to himself. "And who would be really interested in acquiring your company's _assets_, Dave?" he asked pointedly. "Any sleazy companies that you have recently taken over happen to be in that category?"

"The deal we just closed? Oh, John, no. It's just...business! Just..." David trailed off and Jane saw his eyes widen, disbelief flicker into suspicion. John nodded when David seemed to get it.

"Who knows about the deal? You said it wasn't public, yet."

"Everyone. My board of advisers and our investors, and our partner company, of course."

"Who among those people knew I was staying with you, and that I would inherit the company?"

David's face went closed and Jane stiffened. "You think one of David's people sold him out?"

"Sold _us_ out. Someone told the people who want to benefit by our deaths that I was staying with you and that I was incapacitated," John answered, speaking directly to David. "The thugs watching the road had intel that I would be in the house with a nurse." John suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. She held on for as long as he would allow it, drawing comfort she hadn't realized she so desperately needed from his firm grip.

"I...think I know who that might be," David answered tightly with the expression of a man horribly betrayed.

"Look, this is all very interesting," she interrupted, "but does figuring this out help? Their sniper assassination plan failed, thanks to John and his imaginary friend." John threw her a dirty look and she just raised an eyebrow, daring him to contradict her. "Won't they just move on?"

"No," John sighed, and David nodded in sober agreement. "They've shown their cards. They've made a real big mess that they have to clean up, tonight. They hired amateurs, so that tells me they're not clever enough to have good plausible denial in place. They _have_ to kill us now. All of us or it goes very badly for them."

"So what do we do?" David demanded. "You're the military expert. You're the one with all the fighting experience. How do we escape and bring these cretins to justice?" Jane expected John to get angry, hell, she was angry, at the haughty demand - as if John was some kind of rent-a-cop on call.

Instead, John buried his face in his hands, pulling out of Jane's hand to do so. She rested it on his shoulder instead, needing his touch, needing to reassure herself that he was OK. The tremors rippling across his back, perceptible only to her fingertips, were anything _but_ reassuring.

"I...don't know," John whispered. He pressed his palms into his temples and gasped softly. "I don't know."


	9. Chapter 9

John felt like he was splitting in two. His head whirled and ached and the pressure of pain was growing to unbearable proportions. Jane and Dave stood beside him in his own reality, waiting for him to figure it out. To take control. He was the Colonel, the _one who did all the fighting_.

In the alternate universe, Dave and Patrick Sheppard stood across the barn, his father glaring and purple with fury, Dave looking angry and confused. And he'd thought _his_ Dave had issues!

"So what now, _Dad_?" his double sneered and John listened in, his own family "issues" seeming trite by comparison.

"I could ask you the same question. This is your plan? To sit here like trapped quail and wait until they pick us off one by one? I thought they taught you strategy at that damned Air Force Academy of yours."

"They taught me honor, something you were incapable of doing. They taught me to be a man, to know what's important. And to fight for something I can believe in instead of something I can possess."

It was very strange, listening in to his double's words. They could be his own. Though, badass-John's world was way more screwed up than his. In one strange way, John pitied his double. In another, he felt a nudge of envy – he'd never gotten a chance to get those words off his chest, to see what his father would have said in reply.

"I don't see that you know how to fight at all." Patrick Sheppard's voice was low and cruel. He gave a derisive snort and shoved past John's shoulder to throw open the barn door. "You!" He bellowed at the nearest thug.

"Dad!" John yelped, and then realized that _he_ had called out. Badass-John stayed frozen, silent, watching. He felt Jane's hand on his arm and heard David's exclamation of confusion. He realized he needed to reassure them, but he was fixated on what was happening in the AU.

Patrick Sheppard raised his hands as the goon jogged over, made placating gestures. "Tell Ortega that I wish to meet with him. This _violence_ is unnecessary and only puts both of us at risk. He also knows as well as I that getting rid of bodies is more expensive than it's worth."

The thug gave him a serious once over. "Ortega's in the city. Why don't you and your boys come with us? We'll take you to him." His expression was malicious and Patrick just snickered.

"If you take me for a fool, then you are the bigger one. We can hold you off here for as long as we want. Isn't that right son?"

"Right, Dad." John watched the AU Dave walk through himself and step to the door. He fired a single shot from the M16 into the air, then leveled it at the thug right on cue. Patrick Sheppard smiled when the man flinched and looked nervously around in the dark as the sound shattered the gloomy, brooding silence.

"We can certainly hold you off long enough to draw lots of uncomfortable attention. My neighbors, the Martineau's, make it a habit to visit every Tuesday morning for coffee. They are certain to ask questions if the road is blockaded and the place is swarming with armed men. I'm a distinguished businessman in the community. Whose side do you think they're going to take?"

The thug was shifting his feet and looking nervously at Dave's rifle. John had to give the old bastard credit – he'd seen an angle John didn't.

"I'll call Ortega. If he wants to meet, he'll meet. If he doesn't, my orders are clear. Sheppards don't leave this Ranch alive." He walked pompously back to the house where he waved his men into posts around the barn, but they stayed back, looking unlikely to rush the place anytime soon. Patrick waltzed back inside, stopped and looked down at where John and his double were sitting, pure loathing on his face.

"_That _is strategy, _son_." The word coming from his mouth was an curse and John flinched, certain his double did, too.

"You're just delaying the problem. They'll have to assault the barn before dawn. And even if Ortega does come…"

"If he does come, you will shut up and let me do the talking. David!"

Patrick called his oldest son over to the other side of the barn and turned his back, leaving John to sit in tense fury.

"John!"

He blinked and shook his head, finding it hard to refocus on his own reality having spent the last several…minutes?...concentrating on the other one. He suddenly wondered if sliding too deep into the other reality could make it difficult to return to his own?

He took a deep breath and found Jane crouched in front of him, her fingers around his wrist, her hair escaped from its clip to fly in a frizzy halo around her face that glowed faintly in the light through the window.

"John," she repeated. "You need to stop playing with your imaginary friend and come back to us, here. Now," she demanded.

"I'm back," he whispered, then grinned at her self-appointed code for the alternate himself. "And I have an idea."

* * *

Jane stood in the door of the barn, her rifle prominently displayed, her .44 tucked into the waist of her jeans over her blouse so it, also, was in full view. John stood beside her, holding his rifle like he was at a damn parade, _two_ handguns stuck in his belt. She was fighting hard not to twitch and play the bodyguard role as David Sheppard raised his hands outside the barn and called to the nearest bad guy. There was a shuffle of attention and a man in a suit – the only one Jane had seen, the rest were cowboy types – strolled past the luxury car just close enough to speak.

"I, um, I'd like to speak with your employer. That is, with whoever has arranged this unfortunate attack on myself and my friends and family." David sounded unsure and John chuffed softly beside her, annoyed.

"Come on, Dave. Just like we practiced," he whispered.

The man in the suit didn't answer so David went on, suddenly sounding cocky. "Please, the subterfuge is ridiculous and unnecessary. It is as obvious as the horse dung on your shoes that Daniel Ortega is responsible for this ill-conceived scheme to wrest his pathetic excuse of a company from PSI's control."

Jane and John both snickered when the man, almost unconsciously, glanced at his shoe and lifted a foot to inspect it, briefly. Then Jane heard John gasp and say, "Wait! Ortega? You've got to be kidding me!" She threw him a puzzled look, but his expression was more serious than surprised.

Dave went on, almost like he was enjoying the game.

"He must know that his plan will fail. I have failsafes built into PSI's corporate bylaws that will defend our partners against hostile takeover in the event of my death, so even if you succeed in murdering me and my heir, he won't get what he wants."

"Son of a bitch," John whispered softly. "I wonder if he's bluffing?" Jane shrugged, she didn't care. She just wondered if it was working.

"But, in the interest of my own self-preservation, and that of my family, I would be willing to speak with Daniel about…alternatives."

"What kind of alternatives?" The man in the suit finally spoke.

"Good," John whispered and she rolled her eyes. His kibitzing was kind of annoying.

"That would be for us to discuss in person. Tell him to meet me, here. Bring any paperwork he wants me to sign, and I will be…amenable to a favorable agreement."

"Do you think he'll just waltz upstate for a meeting after calling a hit on you?"

"I _think_ that he will be interested in any arrangement that keeps his ass out of jail. Your assassination attempt failed. My brother and I can defend ourselves quite well for quite some time."

That was Jane's cue, and she fired a round into the air and smirked when the Suit flinched at the loud sound. Dave went on.

"We are also quite capable of making a lot of noise that is sure to draw the attention of neighbors and law enforcement alike. So, even if you do manage to kill us in an assault, you'd be unlikely to escape the consequences of your actions. Daniel would be unlikely to escape the consequences."

The Suit looked David over, then nodded, ever so slowly.

"I will contact Ortega," he said, with grudging respect. "No promises. Our orders were to wipe out everyone that even smelled like a Sheppard."

"Then I don't envy your conversation as you admit you've failed in that task rather spectacularly. I have one last request."

"What?" John hissed and Jane stiffened, too. David was definitely _not_ supposed to go off script.

"There are several bottles of medicines in the 2nd guest room on the first floor. I would be very grateful if you would have them brought to us."

"Why the hell should I do that?" the Suit laughed.

"Because if you don't, the deal is off. Enortez Industries stays under the control of PSI, and you get a bullet through your head. Ms. Lammerford?"

David turned and waved to her as if by pre-arranged cue. Thinking every cuss word she knew, and inventing a few others, she raised the rifle and drew bead on the guy's skull trying to look as badass as she was scared. The other thugs that had gathered around twitched. Some lifted weapons and John's rifle went up on his shoulder, too, picking others out of the crowd.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him," John swore over and over in a breathless mutter.

"Consider it an act of goodwill. We get the medicine, you get to deliver your message."

The Suit narrowed his eyes and Jane could feel John leaning into his aim, expecting the worst.

"Fine. Who gives a shit. Ramon. Go fetch the damn pills."

Jane's shoulders began to shudder from fright and from holding the rifle sights on the Suit's head while they waited for _Ramon_. When he finally returned and handed David an armful of orange pill bottles, David gave the Suit a jaunty, "Thank you," then strolled casually back into the barn.

John and Jane looked at each other as he passed, then backed slowly inside behind him and slammed the door shut, locking themselves back into dim shadows.

"That was incredible!" David exclaimed, his hands on his hips. He was pacing in an excited circle and his face was flush with victory in the glow from the window. His grin was a mile wide.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" John spat, shoving a shoulder into Dave's space. Jane thumped the butt of her rifle down on the ground and moved to John's side backing up the sentiment with hostile body language. All triumph was wiped off David's face.

"I… You look awful, John. I thought you could really use…" he trailed off, genuinely surprised at their anger.

"He's a Suit, John," Jane growled. "I told you we shouldn't trust him with anything important."

"But!" David protested and it took all she had not to smirk.

"I know. You were right. I just thought he could handle something that simple."

"Simple?" David was getting perturbed and Jane saw John's lips twitch, too.

"Next time, I'll do the talking. We'll give one of the horses the rifle," John finished, rubbing salt in the wound, and then some. David drew a deep breath for a bellow and John abruptly busted up. To both her and David's shock, John gave Dave a very quick man hug, then slapped him soundly on the arm.

"That was brilliant, Dave. You did good, though you scared the shit out of me and Jane. You bought us time. However it turns out, you bought us time."

"Thank you, John," Dave answered faintly, clearly flummoxed. At last he slumped, shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head. "It was your idea," he admitted softly. "It was your idea that was brilliant. To negotiate for time by pointing out that killing us would cost them effort and expense, not to mention increase their risk of exposure was very, very clever."

John's eyes suddenly went distant in the look Jane was learning meant he was watching things in that other place. At last he shrugged.

"Just something I learned from Dad."

Buy them time it did. An hour later, Jane was almost ready to shoot it out and be done with it. Not really. _Never_ really, but she was bored and scared and...worried.

John sat on the stool by the door fading in and out of reality – their reality, she thought using the correct term. His pulse remained high and his posture grew so stiff, his hands were on his head so often that she finally planted herself in front of him, squatted down to take his hands in hers, and touched his cheek until she was sure that he was looking at her, in _this_ reality.

"John. Tell me what's wrong," she said firmly. He looked away and rolled his eyes, but she touched his face again, let her fingers linger on his jaw, brushed her thumb over his lips. "John," she whispered, begging him with touch to tell her.

"My head…really hurts. We've been connected so…_long_. I can't think straight."

Jane nodded, her own heart racing. She'd given him the pain meds that David had so frustratingly arranged almost an hour ago. He should be flying. If he was _still_ in that much pain…

"The worst part is…he's so…lonely."

"David?" Jane asked, confused.

"No! The other me. My imaginary friend," he smiled, then his eyes went painful again. "His father is such an ass and all he's trying to do is save his brother." He buried his face in his hands.

"He's not you," Jane whispered, aching to hold him. "You and your brother have your moments, but hell, me and my brother fight like Tom and Jerry and we're still close. You seem like a guy that has a lot of friends."

"Friends," he whispered. "Yeah. I'm lucky that way."

"You need to concentrate on _this_ Dave, _this_ John." She touched his chest.

He nodded, blew out a deep breath. "Yes. You're right. I need to concentrate on here." He leaned forward and she couldn't stop herself. His lips brushed hers, softly, expressing his gratitude in his own way, and then he stood with a groan.

"John," she called, stopping him. "You could take the dopamine blockers. You could block him out with the meds," she said desperately hoping he'd take her suggestion. She couldn't give him any more of the hypertension medicine without a prescription or at least looking it up, and this connection, this view into the other place was slowly killing him.

"No," he rasped. "No. I still…need him." He wandered away to speak with David and the groomer.

Over the next hour, however, he seemed to start having trouble coming back to her, despite his promise. He paced the barn and occasionally barked out phrases or words as if participating in whole other conversations without them. Three hours after Dave had talked to the Suit, and well into the wee hours of the night, Jane found herself sitting next to David on a trunk, watching John pace and gesticulate angrily.

"You can do it, Dave," he was saying, his voice low and harsh. "Just leave. Get out while you have the chance. I can put you up. I can take you somewhere so far away no one on the whole damn planet will ever find you."

"He's not well, is he?" Dave asked, pulling on his lip. Mr. Understatement award achieved.

Jane shook her head, fighting pure frustration, pure terror. He was getting worse, slipping deeper into the alternate reality as the medicine he refused to take faded from his system. But she couldn't say that to Dave. She didn't have the right to tell him that, so she said, "He's very sick and everything he's done tonight…"

"Has been nothing less than heroic," David finished, true awe in his voice. "Jane, I didn't know. I just didn't know what he does. When he went hurdling across that pasture _towards_ the sniper…? I was certain I was down one brother and up shit creek."

"We're still up the creek. And David, if we can't get him calmed down and get his blood pressure down, you may still be short one brother, even if we make it out of here." She scrubbed her face. "What I wouldn't give for a bottle of Labetalol."

David's eyes went wide and scared and…understanding all at the same time because he knew what Jane knew: That John wouldn't calm down until the rest of them were safe. That they _needed _him.

"You don't owe Dad anything. You've let him run your life long enough. Let me show you how much better it can be."

David chewed his lip at John's ranting. "Why does he keep talking like I'm standing there talking back?" he wondered out loud.

Jane suddenly and completely understood what John must have felt like in the moment he'd realized that there was no sane way to explain his situation. So she gave David her original answer.

"His subconscious is working on a lot of old crap that's been dug up during his visit here. When he recovers, you may find that he's a lot more pleasant to be around."

David chuffed, then his expression went rueful. "If he recovers."

"Jane!" John suddenly bellowed and she was on her feet reaching for him before she even realized that her heart was pounding from the startle and the fear. His expression went annoyed and he waved at the rifle that hung loosely in her hand.

"They're coming. That Ortega guy showed up after all."

David rushed to the window, then looked back, his expression puzzled. "There's no one out there, John."

"We're behind. We're just behind. It took us a few minutes to pull our "let's talk" routine. If our Ortega is the same person, in the same place then he's just a few minutes out."

"What?" Doubt crossed David's face but Jane suddenly understood.

"Will the same thing happen here? John, will you be able to see what happens, first?"

"I think so," he rasped, then he looked inward and took a step towards the barn door.

Jane grabbed his arm, held him back. "John, you're staying in here with us."

"No, I, he's going outside to meet Ortega. I have to go to…see…"

"You can watch from here. Concentrate on the other place, on what he's seeing, but you don't have to go."

Jane wrestled with him for a moment and had to brace her shoulder against his chest to keep him from reaching the door, but he finally stopped struggling and just stood pushing against her.

"Tell me what you see," she said, both to keep him occupied and because his imaginary friend had delivered on some damn useful intel already. If they had a window into how their reality was going to go down, then she would take it.

"They're outside. They're, they're talking," he rasped.

"Interesting topic of conversation? Like _sorry for the misunderstanding, we'll just leave now_?"

John chuckled, low and hopeless. "No such luck. Ortega's in another sedan. He brought two more guys with him. They look, um, more _professional_. Dad's talking to him in the car. That's not good."

"What? What's not good?"

"Ortega's not getting out. I'm, _he's_ nervous. I'm looking around. _Shit_!"

John lunged blindly forward and Jane kept her feet planted. David was suddenly at her side, his hands on John's other shoulder. "What's happening?" she demanded, hating that she needed him in the other place.

"Sniper. On the roof of the barn. They planned it. Put a guy up there." His head tilted and Jane also found herself glancing at the roof. "Used Ortega to lure them out."

"Are they OK? John, did you spot the sniper in time? I mean, did _he_, shit! whatever?" It was too hard to keep track of. Jane's heart was pumping, and dread was swallowing her up.

"He got Dave and Dad out of the line of fire, but the Sniper has them pinned down behind Ortega's car."

John suddenly gave a full-body shudder and stopped leaning against them. His eyes snapped back into this reality and he snatched for the good rifle that was propped against the door.

"We can do that a lot better," he said, sounding as strong and confident, cocky even, as she'd ever seen him.

Jane exchanged a look of surprise with David. "Do what?" David demanded.

"Get the hell out of here," he answered as if it was obvious. "Fred!"

The old groomer had spent most of his time with the horses, as if he felt more comfortable with the animals than the rest of them. Jane couldn't blame him – they were a bit of a mess. He jumped at his name and scuttled over, looking nervous.

"Saddle up the fastest horse you've got. One that doesn't spook easily, either. When we clear a path, you ride the hell out of here and get to the nearest phone as fast as you can get there."

"John!" David yelped. "They'll shoot him! They'll shoot the horse!"

"They won't. We'll make sure they have their hands full. Head away from the road. Go cross-country to the next farm over. Call the local cops, then call this number I'm going to give you. Say the words on the back. I don't know if that will help in the short term, but however this goes down, I want my people involved in the aftermath." He was scribbling on a piece of notepaper he'd torn from a pad in the office as he talked.

Fred handed the shotgun he'd been cradling all night to David, then saddled up a fantastically beautiful black stallion, his movement so swift and sure as he buckled the straps and fit the halter that Jane was certain the man was an excellent rider, for all his sixty+ years of age. Her fears of the poor old groomer careening around in the dark eased somewhat.

It seemed no time before he was leading the horse to the pasture door and looking at John expectantly. David however, was beside himself.

"John, this is unacceptable. It is simply unacceptable to put this man and this animal at risk in this way!"

"They'll make it," John murmured, brushing one hand over the flank of the beautiful creature. The horse's coat was so glossy, it shimmered in the dim lighting, while at the same time seemed to almost vanish in the shadows. He was so dark, it almost wouldn't matter if he were fast or not.

"Then why didn't we just send them three hours ago?"

"Because three hours ago we didn't know what was going to happen in the next ten minutes. And three hours ago, we didn't have the bargaining chip we need to last long enough for Fred here to bring back the cavalry. Right, Fred?"

"Not quite the same as doing mounted crowd control on the streets of New York, Colonel, but I'll do my best." Fred's answer was crisp and respectful, the voice of a man who knew his duty and trusted the man giving the orders. David snapped his mouth shut, also noticing the deferential tone, but not quite knowing what to do with it.

"I know you will, Officer. Be careful. Wait until my signal, then make for the...Who lives South of here, Dave?"

"The Pritchard's."

"No kidding? They still live there? Is their daughter still...never mind. Make for the Pritchard's Ranch." Jane threw John a nasty look that he pretended not to see.

"Yes, sir." Fred mounted the stallion and held it steady with a firm hand while John returned to the window that looked out over the driveway and the house.

"Bargaining chip?" Jane demanded when David had joined them. There was some scheming going on in that smart, screwed up head of his.

"Ortega. I'm going after Ortega."

Jane was so stunned, for a moment she could only stare at him.

"You are a goddam fool," she spat. He turned to stare at her, surprised by the venom in her tone.

"Look," he began, his face going hard and _disappointed_, his body language going all _whatever_ on her. "We couldn't blast out before because even if Fred makes it in record time, we've got to have a way to keep them off us until the cops or SWAT can arrive. That means at least half an hour _best_ case from the moment that horse bolts. Otherwise, the bad guys just clean us up and go home before the first patrol car gets its lights on."

John scooped the shotgun out of David's hands, glanced at the ceiling, checked the weapon for readiness and then handed it back, to David's obvious surprise.

"Jane, I need you to keep the sentries on the road off of Fred and the horse. Push them back with the rifles if they try to fire at him. I didn't see that they had any long-range weapons, but I just got a glance. David, your job is to take out the guy on the roof."

If the situation weren't so dire, and if she weren't so damn pissed at John right now, she would have _loved_ the look of shock and panic on David's face when John said that.

"I don't...but... You can't be _serious_?"

John let David splutter for a moment longer, then he just grinned. Jabbed a finger in the air at the roof. The barn was a modern building with thin insulating sheeting underneath decorative, composite roofing. The shotgun pellets would pierce it easily. And he didn't have to be precise, he just had to scare the guy off, or knock him off. From the inside. David just stared at the roof and gaped.

"Jane?" John prompted with a smile.

"I get it," she answered, "but what the hell are you going to be doing while I shoot at the road and David shoots at the roof?"

"I'll work my way around the barn from the back. Take Ortega out of the car. Here's where I need your help: Can you keep them out of the barn while I hold Ortega? Or do I need to bring him here?"

Jane felt her chest begin to rise and fall in barely suppressed terror. She knew what he was asking. She knew she could do what he was asking. She just didn't know if she'd ever sleep again if she did it. It wasn't like she slept well now. But if she didn't...

"I'll keep them out," she growled, hating him for making her do this. "You just have to promise –." Her throat closed and her damn eyes were stinging. He suddenly stepped close, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head into his chest. She held him tight, afraid to let him go. She even clung to him when he pushed her away, but his eyes were bright, his breath was fast, charged up again, and his lips were curled in a wry grin.

"I promise," he said. And then he was suddenly distracted by something outside the window. Jane shoved until she could see, too. Headlights were just coming into view on the road a few yards from the end of the long driveway.

"Time's up," he whispered.


	10. Chapter 10

John pressed the good rifle into Jane's empty hand, drew out one of the handguns and positioned himself beside the wide pasture door. He gave Fred a last grin of encouragement.

"Good luck, Officer," he nodded with respect for the old New York cop.

"And you, Colonel," Fred replied.

John flung open the door. Fred leaned forward in the saddle and the stallion leaped into the muggy night air like an arrow out of a bow.

"Jane! Now!" John hissed.

Jane was ready. She took two steps beyond the door and leveled the barrel at the not-distant-enough road where John's quick glance caught idle movement. He held his breath, daring to hope that maybe the horse would be so fast, so dark, that they wouldn't even notice it racing away from them into the back corner of the pasture.

His luck wasn't that good. A shout rose up from the road, and the flash of muzzle fire followed. John ducked and jogged fast along the pasture side of the barn away from the road as Jane returned fire, drawing their attention to the barn. He grinned slightly as he heard a yelp, then bellows of consternation. Answering cries answered from the other side of the barn.

David began unloading the shotgun into the roof and John was done with that part of the plan. The rest of it was up to him.

Too bad he felt like crap.

With supreme effort, John could pull himself out of the AU and almost pass for something close to sane in this one. What was worrying him was the effort it took to _maintain_ his presence here.

He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper in the AU, into badass-John's world. When they were connected, the other guy usually won the coin-toss over where his body was going and what he'd say out loud. Over the past three or four hours in the barn, he'd even gotten used to the blurry, double vision of inanimate objects. Keeping track of the people in both realities was more _challenging_. At the moment, they were separated, and the visions of what his double was seeing was disorienting as they came from wildly different perspectives.

He ran to the corner of the barn, opted to crawl under the fence instead of hop over, then crept very quietly along the South wall that passed under the groomer's office window. There was a large leafy bush at the next corner, the one closest to the house, and he crept into it to look around before going further.

Three men were hovering outside the barn door on the driveway side, looking ready to blast it open and charge in. John's heart leaped, but he fought the temptation to intervene. He had to let Dave and Jane handle it or the plan wouldn't work. When it was Ronon or Teyla, he didn't have any trouble trusting his team. It was why he liked having them _on _his team so much. But Jane was...broken. She didn't want to fight and Dave, well Dave wasn't qualified for what John was asking of him.

Just when he thought the bad guys were going to tear the side of the barn off with fire, the window broke open, and the shotgun muzzle emerged. Two shots scattered the men, sent them diving for cover and John sighed in relief.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his double – trying to see what he saw from another angle, but not get pulled in so deep he couldn't work in this reality.

He felt his heart race at the connection, and he gasped at the pressure in his head that was only just dulled by the 2nd dose of Tylenol he'd taken without telling Jane. His double was still holding off Ortega's men from behind the car that hadn't quite arrived in John's reality, but it was something of a standoff. Dave lay next to him, clutching at a bloody leg and their father crouched in an angry huddle further down.

John tried to get his double to look around and finally let himself slip in far enough that he could nudge a bit. He saw the same three men menacing Jane at the barn door, Ortega's personal bodyguard surrounding a ticked off Ortega. Nothing useful, so John blocked out the AU as best he could and concentrated on this one.

The headlights were tooling up the driveway. John didn't have much time.

As stealthily as he could with a scraped up back and splitting head, he crept out of the bush, scampered behind a hedge row that followed the drive to the front porch, then crossed it with a dash to the other side. They weren't bothering to watch the house. Too bad he couldn't just stroll inside and take a nap for a few minutes, first.

He ran until he was just behind _himself_ and crouched down behind another bench like the one he'd sat on that morning and waited.

The car rolled closer, then stopped, lining up with the one in the AU. As before, the two bodyguards stepped out, leaving Ortega like an ambassador in the back seat all alone. John crawled closer while everyone watched the barn, including Ortega. He glanced at the roof, and was very pleased to see no snipers on the roof. Dave had done his job in this reality. Badass-John must have managed to take care of the other one.

There was a long moment when everyone, in both realities was very still. And that was John's chance. Shoving himself back up to a crouch, he flung himself to the car managing, miraculously, to make it all the way up to the rear door without being seen. This might work after all!

He reached for the handle, preparing himself to grab for the handle and yank it open when he connected, _hard_, with his double who was hovering in the same spot, though for different reasons.

It took everything John had not to scream from the pain that smashed into his skull from the contact. Their perspectives lined up perfectly again but this time the variations were wide, bringing on a wave of nausea: Ortega was in the car in his reality, he was beside the barn in his double's. Jane and Dave were in the barn in his – a variation that moved all the men between him and the barn into different places. The yard felt crowded, overwhelming. It was too much to keep track of. He was starting to have trouble telling the realities apart.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Patrick Sheppard in badass-John's reality scrambled closer, pulled _them_ into his face with a fist. "Kill that bastard Ortega and get us out of here."

John jerked away, fury flaring that he didn't know was his or his double's. "So now you want my help?" AU John growled.

"You're the one with the damn 9 mil. If you don't have the balls, give it to me."

John could tell his double just almost considered it. But he also knew that if Patrick Sheppard tried, the bodyguards on the other side of the car would have him, no matter how good the old man was. John closed his eyes, trying to think, and felt his double do the same thing. He needed to get Ortega soon in his reality. His double needed to get clear of the car. John realized he just couldn't do both. His double would have to make his own way. Once this was over, John would take a handful of those antipsychotics and try like hell to forget him.

With resolve came clarity of mission, and John raised his hand again for the door handle, simply planning to move forward with grabbing Ortega and holding him hostage until help arrived. He'd almost pulled the latch when his hand jerked away and he was dragged towards the trunk of the car by badass-John.

"No," John hissed, not exactly out loud. He fought and struggled, but they were connected tightly. He didn't have Jane and Dave to hold him physically back. With an enormous mental wrench, John yanked away from his double, flung open the car door from his knees and lunged inside. He grabbed Ortega by the collar and with a vicious yank, dragged him backwards out of the car to land hard on his back in the driveway.

John was breathing heavily as he put his knee on Ortega's belly and his gun in the guy's face. "We're going to stand up, and you're going to call your guys off," he panted, blinking sweat out of his eyes. Ortega raised an eyebrow, but John didn't feel like playing poker. He rolled the gangster/businessman until he could twist his arms behind his back and bind his hands together with the zip tie John had taken from the barn for the purpose. He then yanked him to his feet by the collar and slammed him against the trunk of the car.

The group of thugs whirled at the sound and raised their guns. John was facing a bristling wall of bullets, but he had no way out but through at this point, so he put his own gun on to the back of Ortega's head in an exaggerated gesture.

"Put the weapons down or you'll be waxing the car with his brains!" he bellowed, amused at his own gruesomeness. "Tell them to drop their weapons and stand under the light," John growled in Ortega's ear for additional measure. He jerked his head at the decorative lantern that illuminated the ground between the driveway and the barn.

Lightning was flickering every now and then in the black sky behind the barn and the air was thicker, muggier than before. John felt damp through and through from sweat and humidity.

The bodyguards twitched and John raised his second weapon to point at them, keeping the first on Ortega's head and pressing him against the car with a knee. He was blinking sweat out of his eyes constantly and he kept having to refocus to keep _his_ bad guys sorted out. His double was near, very near, but not in exactly the same place, so the alternate perspective was out of sync again – it was low and there were a lot of _feet_?

Holy cow, badass-John was under the car, crawling just behind the back wheel towards the barn, hidden in the shadows where he could...do what?

John shook his head, forcing himself not to connect, not to get sucked in. He caught a very slight flash of movement through the busted barn window and relief filled him up. Jane was watching. She had his back. Or the bad guy's backs, as they were all looking at him.

Ortega still hadn't done as he'd been told, but that didn't really bother John. Time was on his side. He just had to stall long enough for reinforcements. God, he hoped Fred had made it across that field. His arms started to shake with the effort of holding two weapons steady. His heart was thrashing, but in a very tired way. He hadn't been on his feet this long for days. Hell, he hadn't been _awake_ this long for days.

_Please, just light the night up with sirens so I can do the generous thing and offer to let them run before the cops get here, _he begged the fortunes of the universe. _I don't know how much longer I can do this_.

John was jerked back from exhausted daydreaming by Ortega's low chuckle.

"You're the other Sheppard, aren't you? The soldier boy who broke his daddy's heart and went off to war."

"I'm the soldier boy who has a gun at your head," John snarled. "Call. Your men. Off."

Ortega shrugged, lifted his chin and John could see he was looking at one of the bodyguards.

"Destroy the barn and everyone in it," Ortega ordered.

_What?_

John watched in horror as his plan went to hell. One of the bodyguards immediately pivoted and began firing into the side of the barn, drawing the other three hired thugs with him. The 2nd bodyguard put John in his sights and began to stalk forward.

"NO!" John screamed as fifteen, twenty, at least 30 rounds tore into the barn and through soft wood and aluminum siding. Horses were screaming and the panicky thumping of bucking hooves joined the sound of gunfire and the crunch of pierced wood.

Fury took over. Ortega had lit the fuse. John was the dynamite.

He brought both handguns up and forward and fired both at the same time. One shot hit the closest bodyguard in the shoulder and he went down. The other went into the back of the bodyguard who was shooting at the barn. The assault on the barn faltered as the men dropped.

John used the moment of distraction to smash Ortega's head into the roof of the car, then he crouched and ran around the trunk towards the remaining three gunmen as Ortega slid to the ground, dazed.

He was about to pop out and try like hell to get the remaining three as fast as he could – he already heard shouting and footsteps against gravel as the sentries on the road came running – when he slammed into his double and his head split open.

He screamed, and clutched at his head. Badass-John rolled out from where he'd apparently lit the fuse in his own reality and then they were one again – overlapping perfectly, completely. John felt his hands moving, his trigger finger squeezing off round after round as the AU John blasted his way across the lawn in a frenzied, bloodthirsty, kamikaze spree dragging him along for the ride.

He, _they_ were stalking down a thug that had taken cover just inside the barn when John's weapon, the one that mirrored the one in his double's hand clicked, empty.

Shaking violently, feeling like a puppet with a hand up his ass, he passed his second loaded weapon into his right hand and let his double keep firing, dread and grief writhing in his gut. _Jane_ should have shot the bastard in the barn.

The last of the five men around the car yelped and fell, and an eerie quiet surrounded him. He concentrated and found himself in the middle of the lawn beside the barn surrounded by carnage. Three of the thugs were writhing and moaning softly, one was unconscious but breathing (John learned this when he pulled the gun out of his hand to rearm). One was definitely dead. Was the head count correct? He felt like he was missing someone. The sniper on the roof!

He stepped back far enough to see on the roof, and was just able to make out two versions of the sniper – one slumped and about to slide off, the other huddled, unarmed, against an exhaust whirligig thing. For Dave's sake, he really hoped the dead one was badass-John's fault.

Ortega was the last loose end. Badass-John had taken out the mobster or drugrunner or whoever he was in his reality, but John had left his Ortega behind the car. Exerting enough control over his double to get them to check, John found the guy a few yards from the car, trying to knee-crawl away. John hauled him back under the lantern light, on top of his dead AU double, then he and his own double wandered among the bodies picking up the weapons or kicking them away.

He was just shoving a third 9 mil in his belt when three men (six if you counted the blurry three from the AU) pounded up from the road, their own weapons raised, their expressions somewhere between horror and awe. A distant siren finally, _finally_ pierced the oppressive quiet.

John just pointed the gun he happened to have in his hand at them, almost lazily, then spread his other hand to indicate the bodies around him.

They turned tail and ran.

John dropped his arm. Shudders wracked his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes tight, knowing what he had to do next. Not certain he could do it. Not certain he could handle it if he did. The barn door remained open and darkened, the feet of the one dead guy just inside. The wall was pocked with impacts, most showing all the way through to the blackness inside.

He braced himself, mentally and emotionally and took a step towards the door, not really sure what he'd do when he saw their...bodies.

"John?" The question was soft, tentative. Barely above a whisper.

John froze, then his shoulders slumped, this time in excruciating relief. His eyes stung and he choked back a deep sob of released terror. _Jane_.

He turned to see Jane and Dave creeping out of the bush he'd hidden in earlier at the corner of the barn. They walked up to him, still wary, Dave looking ridiculous holding the shotgun.

He looked away when Jane drew close, unable to meet her keen gaze.

"I thought –" His voice caught and he coughed, tried again. "I thought you were..."

"We went out the pasture door before they opened up into the barn," Jane interrupted, rescuing him. "Would have helped with all this," she waved at the body count – some of whom were now sitting up and nursing their wounds, but still looking too shocked to try anything. "But David insisted we open the pasture stall doors so the horses could get out." Her tone was amused disgust and Dave bristled.

"Those animals are my responsibility," he chuffed, but arrogance was short lived. He suddenly handed the shotgun to Jane and wrapped his arms together, looking around him with an expression of horror. "My god, John..." he whispered. John didn't have a reassuring answer for him.

Sirens were getting louder and John was just about ready to let himself sit down, at least, when he became distracted, sucked under really, by the other AU. He was still tightly connected and he found himself walking a short distance, Jane and Dave in tow, Jane's face hard, towards the AU Patrick Sheppard.

His double's father was holding a wounded Dave around his waist. The AU Dave looked pale, but alert as he hopped on one leg, the other bleeding freely from a wound in the thigh.

"Are you happy now, Dad?" John growled in both realities. John was so tightly connected, and so damn tired, it took too much effort to stop himself from repeating badass-John's words. He felt Jane's hand on his arm, heard her hissing something about meds, but he wasn't _there_ at the moment. He was in the AU.

"Look what you've done. Just look at what you've done. It will take weeks of effort and expense to clean this mess up." Patrick said, his voice a mask of barely contained fury. John felt despair wash over him. The link between him and his double was bleeding through emotion, now, too. "

"It's never enough. I can never do enough for you to forgive me, can I?" John whispered, soft and broken.

"You've done plenty. Get off my property."

"I will," John answered and there was a kind of finality to the words. But instead of turning to walk away, he raised his hand, held it out to Dave. "Come with me, Dave," he said, the plea utterly quiet, utterly sincere.

Patrick snorted derisively, but to John's shock, Dave's face was conflicted. John felt a flutter of hope in both their chests.

"John, I'm with you. You're welcome here. I...forgive you." John was confused. He shook his head. That was Dave's voice. _His _Dave's voice.

As John spoke with the AU phantoms, his brother had stepped quietly in front of him, lining up almost perfectly with the AU Dave. It took supreme effort, but John pulled himself out of the AU enough to recognize that his Dave's expression was sincere, concerned. His Dave was reaching for _him_.

"Let me help you, John," he said. The police will be here very soon. Please sit down before you fall down."

Yes. That's what he needed to do. That's what he wanted to do, to sit down. With _his_ Dave and _his_ Jane whose touch warmed his back. There was a white flash that lit up the front of the house, lightning?, and Dave's eyes went wide.

John frowned, feeling slow. But before John could turn around and see what Dave was gaping at, a shadow lunged out of the matching shadows beside the drive. John saw a man in a suit level a 9 mm at Patrick and David Sheppard, his expression pure revenge.

There was no time. Only reaction. John, _both_ Johns, flung himself in front of Dave, lifted the weapon he still had clutched in his hands but he was too late. The man in the suit was bathed in a red glow at the same time his muzzle flashed, all before John could get his own weapon readied.

John felt an impact like a fighter jet against his chest and he was flung backwards against Dave who was forced to grab him around the chest to keep them both from falling. Dave lowered him to the ground and crouched over his head.

John saw two Daves, overlapping and blurry – one with an expression of confusion and horror, the other wearing an expression of grief.

"John," the grief-stricken one choked out. "Why didn't you just let them kill me?"

John felt the pressure against his chest swell and he glanced down to see a damp puddle spreading across his chest. Across the chest wearing the black t-shirt at least. The grey eskimo was unblemished, if damp from sweat.

But it hardly mattered. John felt the pain like he'd been shot in both realities. He felt his heart falter in both.

He heard his name called by several voices in his own reality and he dully realized that the new ones that joined Jane and Dave's were familiar, friends. But he wasn't _there_.

"Why did you do that?" the AU Dave screamed at him, almost hysterical.

"Because..." John felt his breath growing faint and he tasted blood. "Because you're my brother," his double whispered at last, John's voice echoing the words in his own reality. It took supreme effort, but the AU John managed to roll his head and find his father's face. John could feel his desperate need for acceptance, for a final word of approval, but Patrick just stood watching, his face a stoic mask of fury.

"I'll leave," the AU Dave whispered grabbing for John's hand and leaning close. "I promise. I'll get away from him."

Badass-John gave a final contented sigh and closed his eyes.

John's eyes closed with them. The connection was closing, like a curtain being drawn on a stage, and it was taking John with it.

"Damn it, John. I didn't just baby you through the last four days to have you check out on me now. You fight, you stubborn bastard, or I will hunt you down in every room in Hades and shoot you myself!"

Jane's words were angry and anguished all at the same time. He heard them, but he had only the vaguest impression of her hovering over him and compressing his chest with powerful CPR thrusts. Of her lips on his in bittersweet rescue breaths.

With a tiny click of mental pressure, badass-John was gone, but _John_ was still locked into the AU universe, floating limbo in a plane where he now had no anchor. He felt himself begin to shudder, he took a great gasping breath on his own and he felt his heart reverse course and race to the opposite spectrum of concern. His head pounded and nausea slammed into him so forcefully that he groaned and dry retched. His whole body was shaking so hard he could hear his teeth chattering.

"Roll him on his side. He's seizing. David, prop your knees against his back."

Jane's voice was panicky, desperate, professional and tender all at the same time. John fought the pull for a long time. He tried to escape. He tried to get out. But he was so tired, so weak. His body continued to thrash, held down by the firm hands of friends. But John wasn't really in it any more. He was trapped in an alternate reality as a ghost, a dead man.

Pain filled up his skull and he suddenly decided not to fight it any more. He let his consciousness, wherever it was, fade out, knowing, ultimately, his body would follow and the Lost Daedalus would claim yet another John Sheppard.


	11. Chapter 11

When Jane peeked around the corner after the gunfire finally seemed to stop, there was a moment when she didn't believe her eyes. It was a cliché, but it best described her shock and horror and yes, disbelief. She held David back almost to protect him from the disturbing sight of his brother stalking, alone, through a pile of bodies, bristling with the multiple weapons he'd taken from the men he'd just...destroyed.

Hell, _she_ was disturbed. And she always won the "grossest things I've seen" game. She didn't blame the guys on the road for turning tail. John, in that moment, was the scariest person she'd ever met. _Until_ she finally worked up the courage to call his name. Until he slowly turned and she saw the grief on his face. Grief for her and his brother that he'd assumed were full of holes in the barn.

"I thought – . I thought you were –," he choked out and she just wanted to hold him. To take the grief away and show him how alive she was.

But then, instead of letting her sit him down so she could shove him into the first ambulance that arrived, his expression went away, into the other place, and he wandered slowly towards the shot up car, drawn by the voices only he could hear. Jane made a very quick triage survey of the wounded men and, surprisingly, came up with nothing to do. They were all either hurting (or dead in that one case), but none were on the verge of bleeding out, so she didn't feel much like helping. She followed John, instead, much more concerned about him.

"Are you happy now, Dad?" John growled, speaking to the ghost he'd been cursed by since his visions had begun. David shot her a furious glare born of concern and frustration.

"Jane, why does he keep doing that? Is he...is he schizophrenic?"

Jane shook her head, though, had she not decided to believe John's story about research and experiments and alternate realities, that would be her diagnosis. Then again, perhaps she believed it because she didn't want to believe the reasonable alternative.

"He's sick. He's hallucinating." she answered, hoping that was true enough. "Before all this began tonight, he called his people at his unit. He said they can help him, with better meds or something. I hope to god he's right."

David's face went determined. "I'm not just going to stand here and let him hallucinate being scared and angry any more." David's posture went straight, and he walked around the somnambulant John to stand in front of him, to put himself in place of the invisible people he was talking to. Jane followed, put a hand on John's arm, the other on his back. Hoping, like David, to anchor him back into this reality.

"It's never enough. I can never do enough for you to forgive me, can I, Dad?" John whispered, soft and broken. "Come with me, Dave."

Jane pulled him tighter to her, remembering his anguish over the other guy's loneliness. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder for a moment, needing to comfort him. David's breath hitched with similar sorrow.

"John, I'm with you. You're welcome here. I...forgive you," David said and held out a hand, hesitant, but compassionate. It was damn sweet, what he was trying to do, Jane thought. "Let me help you, John. The police will be here very soon. Please sit down before you fall down."

Jane suddenly decided that the second he was lucid again she was going to force-feed him those pills to get him away from that place. They were in the barn. She turned, fully intending to race back and get them when a flash of light whited out the lawn, from barn to the driveway. She blinked, her eyes tearing.

When she blinked the afterimage out of her vision, there were three people standing in the open space that hadn't been there before. She felt a jolt of adrenaline, assuming they were Ortega's men, though...

A flutter of hope formed in her mind as observation caught up and she realized they were strangely dressed for cowboy thugs. One of them, a tall and stern looking woman with blond hair pulled up into a bun even looked like she was wearing a uniform. The next was a tall wild-looking man and the third man was as nondescript as the first was distinctive. John's people?

Dave was also gaping at them, so neither he nor she was watching when John suddenly wrenched out of her touch and threw himself in front of Dave.

Jane whirled at what John was struggling to aim his weapon at and saw the Suit leaping out of the bushes with a 9mm already aimed, his finger already on the trigger, his face pissed off and suicidal. Shit! They'd missed it. They hadn't done a goddam head count.

Faster than Jane had ever seen anyone draw, the wild man pulled a huge weapon off his hip and fired at the Suit. The suit was bathed in a red glow, then seized with an expression of utter surprise before he crumpled to the ground. John, however was thrown back just like he'd been shot anyways. David caught him around the chest, then sank gently to the ground with him.

Jane forgot about magically appearing people and red laser guns and threw herself to her knees beside John.

"What...happened?" David whispered, his hands on John's shoulders.

Jane ignored him, clicking into full triage mode. There was no bullet wound that she could see, but she caught John's glance down at his own chest, the flicker of despair that crossed his face, the hard swallow. Feeling ridiculous, she yanked up the hem of his shirt, just to be sure. No holes.

The relief was only short-lived as his pulse, that had been frighteningly fast for hours, suddenly began to slow. It grew more sluggish over even the brief seconds she held her fingers at his throat.

"Lie him down flat," she ordered to David who still had John's shoulders on his knees. "Tilt his head back. Pulse and respiration are dropping. I'm going to begin CPR."

"What's wrong with him?"

Jane spared only a glance and realized that the question came from the tall wild man, who was now crouched at John's feet. The other man dropped to his knees opposite Jane and was waving a glowing box over John's chest, then over his head. But she couldn't think about that either. She positioned her hands on John's chest and began compressions.

"His brain activity in the um, spectrum of concern, is extremely high."

"He's in the other reality," Jane confirmed startling the man with the box so completely that he dropped it. "Can you get him back?"

"We need to break the connection. By either getting him physically distant from his double or by chemically suppressing the brain activity."

"We can't move him until he's stable," she barked, hearing her tone hit full Nurse-bitch mode. "Will the meds he brought chemically suppress the brain activity?"

"Yes. To a certain degree. It's obviously not exceedingly effective."

Jane didn't have time to explain her thoughts on the matter, having observed John so closely these past hours. She filed the answer away, though. Keeping his damn heart beating was her highest concern at the moment.

"Because you're my brother..." John whispered. David's breath hitched in pure anguish. John sighed and closed his eyes. Jane felt her own eyes sting and it wasn't from the sweat pouring off her brow. Her own breath was tight in her chest. She was losing him.

"Damn it, John. I didn't just baby you through the last four days to have you check out on me now. You fight, you stubborn bastard, or I will hunt you down in every room in Hades and shoot you myself! Is there a damn ambulance coming?!"

She pressed her lips to his in another rescue breath and the sting became unbearable. "Come _on_, John," she begged, for his ears only before she felt for his pulse to start another cycle of CPR, unwilling to give up, to turn him over to hands untrusted, though her arms trembled with fatigue.

She froze when John shuddered, his pulse fluttered, then grew stronger. John took a deep gasp and kept shuddering, hard. When he groaned, then gagged, she grabbed for his arm and started tugging.

"Roll him on his side. He's seizing. David, prop your knees against his back."

Jane bellowed the instructions, mentally cursing John with every obscenity she'd ever learned. It took a while. When he was situated as she wanted him, and held securely by his brother and his friends, Jane sat back for a moment to let her own arms recover. She needed to rest, now, in case she had to do it again.

She looked around for the first time in minutes. The house and yard and barn were bathed in flashing red, blue and white light. There were shouts and demands as the officers in the police cars burst out of their vehicles upon what must be a completely startling scene. One voice rose loud and clear over the babble of confusion.

"My name is Colonel Samantha Carter. Sergeant, I need your officers to secure these men and give me a second to sort things out. One of my people is involved and critically ill. Is there an ambulance en route?"

_Carter,_ Jane thought, grateful for the woman's smooth control of the situation. John's CO came personally? She must either be the best boss ever, or John was a bigger deal than she'd imagined.

She looked at her watch. John still shuddered and her terror only grew. _Think, Jane, think!_

"How long can he take this?" the wild man growled after more excruciating moments of watching.

"Those pills, would they stop this?" She demanded of the plain man with the glowing box.

"It would suppress the receptors that are interacting with the alternate universe, but I don't think it would work fast enough to stop..._this_." he waved helplessly at John, the put his hand back on John's leg, for reassurance more than support, she thought.

Carter jogged over at that moment, crouched beside Jane, though her gaze and her concern was for John. "Ambulance is already on its way. Five minutes out."

"Too long," Jane suddenly decided. She stood up. "David! Is there ketamine in that horse barn?"

"I don't know," he stammered. He was close to losing it, which only made her more determined to get him distracted.

"Do you know where Fred and the veterinarians keep supplies for the horses?"

"Yes."

"Take me."

He scrambled, and she ran across the yard and into the destroyed barn like she was being pursued by Taliban. David, for all his terror was on her heels and his posture was going more determined.

"Here," he said, grabbing for the key to a tall, built-in cabinet in the office part of the barn. It was strange to be in here with the lights on, Jane thought.

She began rummaging through the bottles of antibiotics and vitamins, throwing items to the counter when they weren't what she needed. At last, she put her hand around a brown bottle filled with liquid with the right label. She snatched for a hypodermic needle from another shelf and then grabbed a mortar and pestle that gave her an idea.

On the way back out, she scrabbled through the orange pill bottles that had been scattered, and in some cases shot across the flooring. And then she was running back across the lawn, dodging befuddled looking police officers.

She flung herself onto the grass beside John with her pile of booty. A quick glance at him still twitching weakly strengthened her resolve.

"Crush one of those," she ordered, giving David the mortar and pestle and the bottle of antipsychotics. When he obeyed, she tore open the hypodermic, read the label on the bottle of ketamine very carefully, then closed her eyes doing the math and desperately trying to remember the papers she'd read. _How much did John weigh?_

"What are you doing?" Carter suddenly demanded from where she'd crouched to also stand by John.

"I'm going to administer ketamine to interrupt the seizure."

"Horse tranquilizers? You're going to give him horse tranquilizers?" the fidgety man bellowed.

"There are studies that suggest ketamine is more effective than Phenobarbital for interrupting prolonged status epilepticus. His organs are going to shut down if we don't stop this."

"Do it," Carter said, softly but with a tone of command. Jane would have done it anyway.

She drew the ketamine into the syringe, then yanked her clip out of her hair to get at the ponytail elastic underneath it. She worked the tight band up John's arm, with the nervous man's help, then tapped the vein until she thought she could hit it in the dim lighting.

"Sorry about the horse needle, John," she murmured. "This is going to hurt like hell."

Not allowing herself to hesitate, she plunged the needle into his arm, and released the liquid.

"Remove the needle, then put the powder into the plunger," she demanded next, handing the empty syringe to David." He gave her a wide-eyed look, but began to do as she asked.

Jane shoved David out of the way to put her fingers on John's throat, and her ear beside his face to listen for respiratory distress. The twitches slowed, but Jane wasn't sure it was because of the sedative or because he was losing the fight. She found herself stroking his sweaty hair, brushing strands off his sweat-slicked forehead. He calmed even further, and his shoulders went slack, slumping towards the grass.

"Come back, John," she whispered. "I need you to come back."

"I'm finished." David sounded nervous. Jane caressed John's cheek once more before she took the powder-filled syringe. She held it up and looked at John's friends. They were looking at her oddly, especially the nervous one, but she didn't care.

"I'm going to give him an overdose of the antipsychotic that your doctors prescribed. I need to know if that will stop the connection to the other place, um, the alternate universe. I need to know if it's worth the risk."

The nervous man shot a look at Carter. "It's your call, Rodney," Carter retorted, though gently. He looked panicky for a moment, then lifted his chin. He gave a swift decisive nod. Jane nodded back.

With their help, she rolled John onto his back, had the wild man compress his diaphragm, then she blew the powder up John's nose with the syringe when he inhaled. And then, because she wanted to and because she could, she shoved at him until his head was on her lap. She situated him just where she could lean over his face, stroke his cheek, and keep her fingers on his pulse at the same time. David moved and sat beside her, touching her shoulder as well as John's.

Carter came and went. Eventually she heard more sirens, more people gathered around her.

"Ma'am," Carter said and David interrupted.

"Jane. Her name is Jane Lammerford."

"Ms. Lammerford," Carter corrected, "the EMTs are here."

"They can wait a damn minute," Jane snapped back. She held John's head in her lap, her hands wrapped protectively around his shoulders. She needed something before she let him go. Some clue. Some _hope_. She knew, deep down, that you didn't get a sign just because you wanted it, but...

John took a deep shuddering breath and released it in a quiet sigh. Jane's heart raced, and she pressed her hands into his neck. His pulse was slow but steady and strong. As if the sigh had burst some kind of barrier, his respiration also steadied into deep, quiet breaths, like a deep sleep.

When he groaned in his sleep and his hands flopped as if waving away a fly, she buried her face in his hair and felt the tears flow hot against her cheeks. It took everything she had not to sob.

"Is he...OK?" David asked, his hand rubbing her back. "Is that a good sign?"

"It's a good sign," she answered in a choking sob. "It's a very good sign."

She held him, selfishly, for another long moment, then pushed away. She swiped at her eyes, then stood up to let the EMTs do their thing. She knew their drill. John's friends also stood, gathered around her watching as John was kitted up with IVs and monitoring.

"Both of the drugs I administered are powerful sedatives. He will need close monitoring to make sure his pulse and respiration don't become too suppressed," she told Carter, not sure where they'd have him taken. There were many military facilities in the area. "He's been hypertensive for the past four to five hours so they'll also have to keep a watch for signs of stroke and organ damage."

Carter nodded. "Thank you Jane Lammerford," the striking woman answered with a relieved grin that transformed her features from command into warm humanity. "I'm John's commanding officer, Sam Carter. This is Dr. Rodney McKay, and Ronon," Carter introduced each in turn, the circumstances not lending themselves to boring pleasantries until that moment.

"Colonel Carter and McKay," Jane repeated. "And both on the same planet," she added with a tired smile. She'd made the joke expecting puzzled smiles. Instead, John's friends just exchanged an odd, almost suspicious, look and so she let it go. "John spoke highly of both of you. He's going to be fine. I know... I can just feel it. He's going to be OK, now."

"We'll do everything in our power to make sure he is," Carter answered firmly. "But it's you I want to thank. For...that," she gestured to where the EMTs were still working on John.

"You're welcome, ma'am," Jane answered with a firm nod. "But there's a lot here that needs to be sorted out. Can I take from the context that the harebrained story John told me about experiments and dimension hopping boats and alternate universes is more truth than fiction?"

David's look at her was pure skepticism, but Jane saw at once that these people would confirm John's version of the story. No one looked that nervous if they didn't have a top secret secret to keep. Ronon and McKay gave Carter the "you go first" look of panic.

"Yes, Ms. Lammerford. John's _illness_ was caused by circumstances involving advanced technology and classified research."

"TS," David murmured softly, and Jane almost giggled. She grabbed his hand, knowing he would be crashing, soon, as danger gave way to tedium and she'd need to keep an eye on him. Carter just cocked her head. Jane sighed. She'd be crashing soon, too.

"David and I will have to speak to the police at length, I'm certain." David nodded his head vigorously at that. "Can I entrust John to you? Will one of you who, um, _understands_ his situation stay with him?"

"Count on it," the wild one, Ronon, answered so firmly that Jane favored him with such a warm smile that he blushed. Carter was also nodding firmly.

"John will most likely remain in our custody in any case. We take care of our own," the strong woman added, then her face went rueful, "though we messed up pretty bad this time..." her gaze was at the EMTs who were in the process of lifting John onto a portable gurney. "We never should have let him come here."

"If he hadn't been here, his brother would be dead right now. We were damn lucky he _was_ here," Jane snapped.

David gave a little gasp of realization, his eyes wide before he nodded vigorously. Jane suddenly found herself very amused that the night's events had left John's gregarious, pompous, and extremely verbose brother speechless.

"I intend to stay for the duration," Carter agreed, looking around and shaking her head at the police and men being detained and treated by other EMTs. "I think this is a story I really want to hear. And I'm certain that there will be some context that I will need to provide on behalf of John. Rodney, go arrange for John's, um, transportation back to Cheyenne Mountain."

Jane frowned, but Carter's look didn't brook challenge. Rodney scuttled off trailed by Ronon. David used the moment to shake hands with the Colonel and introduce himself, some of his voice returning to him, so Jane wandered over to John. They were just wrapping him up in warm blankets and strapping him into the cot.

She knelt to study his face. She felt for his pulse, asked a few questions about his blood pressure and liked the answers she got. When she couldn't stand it any more, she caressed his cheek, admiring the scruffy texture of his beard, then bent to kiss him soundly on the lips. He may not remember it, but she knew from watching hundreds of wounded soldiers in the field that he _needed_ it. Caring touch always helped. And besides, s_he_ needed it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ronon gape from across the yard, then throw his elbow into Rodney's side so hard the man staggered sideways.

"You get better, John," she whispered with a smile at his friends' antics. "I'll come see you if I can. Come see me if I can't. Your people are here and they'll take care of you. Oh, and by the way..."

She kissed him again, letting her face linger close to his, feeling her lashes dampen with tears of relief and regret, then laughing at his friends' exaggerated reactions to her affection.

"Worst first date _ever._"

* * *

_AN: No cliffhanger this time! But I hope you'll join me for one last chapter of wrapup._


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I'm reposting this chapter because I think ffnet's email alerts have been wonky for a while. I didn't get a notice that this was up, and I haven't been getting notices of reviews (so extra sorry! I've realized I've missed several final chap reviews and I apologize, will reply asap! because it means so much and I try really hard to get back to everyone!)_

Sam was beat. Really, really beat. Somehow, she'd imagined life as a full-bird Colonel as a little more, well, mundane. Instead, while she didn't go through the stargate _daily_ to battle Goauld and replicators and Ori anymore, she'd learned from her year on Atlantis that management entailed its own kind of excitement. Like wading through paperwork and giving statements for hours trying to explain why one of your people was involved in a mass shooting on a quiet, Maryland horse ranch in the middle of a stormy summer night.

If John weren't so damn sick, she'd kill him.

She really wanted to go home, to bed. Like she'd planned to do last night. But, she'd gotten a few hours sleep at David Sheppard's when the police finally wrapped up their questioning and she'd brought John's bags with her when she hitched a ride from the Daedalus back to Cheyenne Mountain. So instead of a hot shower and a fluffy duvet, she was sitting in an uncomfortable infirmary chair, watching John sleep and Ronon pace.

Rodney was slumped in another chair, poking so furiously at a tablet computer, she thought his finger might go through the screen. John was propped on his side and looked pale to Sam. Being all too familiar with medical equipment and what each machine might mean, she took stock of John's "gear" and saw that while he was wired to the hilt with monitors – EEG, EKG, PulseOX, IV, and that gadget McKay and Keller had invented that was kind of like an ultra-mini Ancient scanner – the serious support equipment was, mercifully, absent. He was being watched carefully, she summarized, but was getting by on his own.

She checked her watch. John had collapsed almost 18 hours ago.

"Has he regained consciousness, yet?" she asked of Rodney, who just waved _not now_, so she turned the question on Ronon with a look.

"No. Doc said he's stabilized, though. Sedative wore off about six hours ago. Doc said I can kick him, soon."

"Do it," Sam ordered with a grin. "Let's wake sleeping beauty up so I can tell him his family is OK and we can both go back to sleep."

Ronon guffawed and seemed to thoroughly enjoy poking, shaking, and otherwise tormenting John until he started to grunt in unconscious protest, then sigh with more restless rustling. Ronon stood back, folded his arms and watched, his grin infectious. When John finally twitched himself awake, it was only to open his eyes and look at wherever was in front of him.

Ronon, crouched so he could see John's face, more serious when it came down to it. John raised an eyebrow in a weary sort of way. "Welcome back, Sheppard," Ronon said, but cautiously, like he was waiting for John to answer before he passed judgment on the man's lucidity.

"Thanks," John whispered, his voice dry and gravelly. "Where is...back?"

"SGC," Ronon waved his hands in the air, like that would help. "Daedalus beamed you." John just nodded, closed his eyes again for a moment, until they flew open and he began to squirm.

"Dave? Is Dave here? Is Jane OK?" Rodney snickered at the last, telling Sam that he was paying attention after all. Ronon threw her a shrug, so Sam stepped over, put her hand on his shoulder until he stilled.

"Your brother and Ms. Lammerford are just fine, John. I've just gotten back, in fact, from sorting things out with the police. And the FBI. And Homeland Security," she chuckled. "I thought I told you to relax."

John looked relieved. "Is Dave safe? From, from that Ortega guy? And the hostile takeovers, and..."

Sam sighed, realizing that he wouldn't let it go, so she gave him a "wait for it" gesture, pulled her chair over. Ronon dragged another one close by, turned it backwards to straddle. John smiled at him, clearly pleased to have his friend there.

"David and Jane told an amazing story about an assassination attempt on your brother and that you managed not only to steer David away from the bullet, but that you also took out the sniper and an entire hit squad hired by one Mr. Daniel Ortega. Ortega is in custody and likely to stay there. Several of his men are rolling over on him and David," Sam still chuckled at the thought, "David presented audio evidence of one of the men - the guy Jane calls "the Suit" - confessing to the conspiracy."

John rolled his head, gave her a look. "Evidence?"

"Apparently, you sent him out to negotiate for time to prepare for an assault." John nodded. "David recorded the whole conversation on his cell phone in his pocket."

"No way!" John looked shocked rather than amused. Which amused Sam.

"Yes, way. I see where thinking on your feet comes from, John. Ortega is pretty much criminal toast. He'll go down for conspiracy to murder, and all kinds of business things I don't understand."

John sighed, relieved. Sam chewed her lip, leaned over her knees and clasped her hands together. "But I'm more interested in the AU. How in Ba'al's Undies did you figure that out?"

"It figured me out. As the concussion improved, marginally, the connection to the AU, through my double, became more obvious. That, and as our paths diverged, I wasn't constantly overwhelmed by occupying the same space. Separating for a time gave me a chance to regain my bearings. I began to remain conscious during the connections and could control the physical symptoms to some degree."

"What we thought were seizures."

"Yes. For a long time, Jane had me convinced I was just hallucinating. Until the night of the ambush when I realized that all of the hallucinations were from my own perspective. I was sick most of that day with crossover flashes as my double watched Dave's house, preparing for the ambush in his reality. It's what I would have done."

"Jane told me that you refused the medicine that blocked out the AU?" Sam needed to get his side of this part of the story. Jane, being in on it, had coyly redirected the account of John's seeming precognition by alluding to his combat training. David, as John's biggest new fan eagerly reinforced the notion. The police ate it up like candy. Sam didn't buy all of it.

"I realized that badass-John, I mean my double, knew more about the attack than I ever could. He was more mobile in his universe. So I used the connection between us to gain intel about what was going to happen in our universe. They were identical in very strange ways. I needed that connection to keep getting the intel. I needed it to keep my damn brother alive."

Sam nodded, satisfied. "David's grateful, John. He seemed to decide he didn't really want to know the details that Jane knows, but he knows what you did and the price you paid – or could have paid. He asked constantly about seeing you."

John nodded, but was fading fast, even the short conversation exhausting him. "Maybe...tomorrow," he murmured.

"My thought as well. I told David as much."

"First name basis..." John muttered, sleepily, sounding disgusted.

"Your brother seems like a lovely man. If a bit arrogant," she said, repeating her assessment of before, but this time she could speak the words with more familiarity.

"You have no idea," John also repeated, playing along.

Sam nodded, looking at the man who had just single-handedly taken out a squad of well-armed (if poorly trained) bad guys while suffering from the debilitating effects of a concussion and an invasive AU.

"I have a _very_ good idea," she retorted firmly. "Do you think if I told you to rest for another 12 hours, you could manage to follow _that_ order?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'll check in on you tomorrow. Good night Ronon, Rodney."

"'Night," Ronon rumbled, still watching Sheppard fondly, his easy slouch indicating he wasn't going anywhere, soon. Rodney just waved without looking up.

Sam chuckled, but it was rueful. Sometimes, she really missed those guys.

* * *

John felt exhausted just from the few minutes he'd been talking to Sam, but though he closed his eyes, he found he wasn't ready to drop right back to sleep. She should really stop making rest an order, he thought grumpily. Brought out the stubborn in him.

The second Sam's footsteps faded, however, he realized that sleep wasn't going to be easy, even if he wanted to. John startled awake at the sound of scraping chairs and opened his eyes to find Rodney and Ronon both scooting closer, Rodney's tablet tossed on his bed where John could feel it resting against his foot, their expressions eager.

"What?" he demanded, still grumpy when they just sat there looking at him with smug grins.

"So..." Rodney began, with a tilt to his head, "Feeling...better?"

"I suppose?" John was definitely suspicious, now. "How long was I out?"

"18 hours." Ronon seemed to enjoy giving John that data. He always made it a point to answer first. John just shuddered. Another day. Great.

"Have fun at your brother's?" Rodney asked with that same singsong smugness.

"I spent four days hallucinating and nauseous and another fighting bad guys who were trying to kill me," he snapped. "How was your week?"

Ronon guffawed, for no reason that John could figure out and suspicion was rapidly turning to annoyance.

"It couldn't have been all _that_ bad."

"It was that bad."

"Let me rephrase – It _all_ couldn't be that bad."

"Rodney, I'm sick, and I'm tired. What are you getting at?" John gave up. Normally, he'd play Rodney's game and raise the ante for good measure, but tonight...

"You're sick? Poor thing. Maybe you should call Nurse Jane to make you feel better."

Ronon guffawed again and Rodney snickered at his own cleverness. John felt his face go hot, suddenly getting the gist of the teasing, but how the hell could they...?

"Jane seemed pretty concerned about you when she was saving your ass from the AU. We saw some pretty, um, _affectionate_ forms of resuscitation going on. _After_ you'd already been resuscitated, that is."

"She kissed you goodbye," Ronon summed up, either sensing John's confusion or wanting to rub it in, John wasn't sure.

"Oh," John said, then couldn't help the sloppy grin that crossed his face at the thought. Ronon just laughed even harder, but Rodney seemed to be offended.

"Come on! You've got to give us more than _Oh_."

"I don't kiss and tell, Rodney. Especially when I was unconscious during the kissing. You'll just have to draw your own conclusions."

"That's what I'm doing. Cough it up, John. Nobody just kisses you goodbye like that without _some_ juicy story behind it."

"Jane looked after me those first days at Dave's when I was recovering and still really damn sick. We became friends." He made a serious effort not to put any innuendo into the word. And as he said it, he believed it was true. He hoped it was true – one didn't fight bad guys for a night together without becoming friends, even if the _other_ stuff hadn't happened.

"Friends?" Rodney's look was extremely suspicious.

"Yup. She's a Corpsman. Spent time greenside in Afghanistan. Not only did she manage my ass through nausea and seizures, but she also stayed on my six during the whole hit squad ordeal. I would have died six ways from Sunday that night without her. She kicks butt."

"Oh," Rodney said, and it was John's turn to snicker, if privately. _Serves him right_, he thought.

"Seven," Rodney said, at last, looking more serious.

"Hmmm?"

"She saved your ass seven times. When you were unconscious, seizing from the effects of your connection to the other universe – hey! I need to ask you about that. Did your double in the AU experience some kind of traumatic physical event before you collapsed?"

John was thrown by the question, and the heart monitor began to beep faster as he was suddenly flooded by the memories of being shot, of his double's anguish.

"You could say that," he snapped at last. "He got shot in the chest by the guy that jumped out of the bushes. Come to think of it, I don't know how I didn't get shot, too." He looked down at his chest, almost afraid he'd see a wound appear before his eyes.

"I shot him first," Ronon answered, matter of fact and John threw him a heartfelt look of man gratitude. Ronon just nodded back with a calculating expression. Maybe he'd noticed the heart monitor. Rodney, however, just continued, clueless to John's distress.

"I knew it! Jennifer and I both hypothesized that when your brain was synchronized to your counterpart in the AU, traumatic events might bleed through. We were clearly right, again."

"And I almost bought the farm because of it," John growled. "I don't see the humor, Rodney."

"Not humor. Intellectual satisfaction. Anyway. Jane. She saved your ass. The ambulance was too far away, you were about to seize into organ failure, so she makes Dave get her some horse tranquilizer out of the barn, shoots you up with the stuff to stop the seizure, then blows an overdose of the antipsychotic that Dr. Klein synthesized up your nose to break the connection to the AU. She was brilliant." Rodney leaned against the back of his chair, his expression sincere. John was glad. He wasn't the kiss and tell type and he wanted his friends to like her for who she was.

Rodney was still talking, though. "Corpsman, huh? I see why she stayed so cool under fire, now. Good _friend_ to have around," he finished with a suggestive eyebrow, demonstrating by his inflection that he wasn't buying any "just friends" story.

"A very good friend," John answered, still being careful, but Ronon tilted his head, gave him an ever-so-sideways look. "And you're good friends, too," he added softly, and meaning it. "Thanks for coming all the way..." he stopped abruptly, feeling his face heat and not quite knowing how to finish.

"Of course, of course," Rodney just waved the awkward moment away. "Chasing after you to save your skin is getting to be something of a habit."

John opened his mouth to protest. The way he remembered it, he'd pretty much taken care of Ortega's people before they'd showed up at all. But a look at Ronon, slouched over his chair in easy camaraderie stopped him. He'd be dead without them. He'd been a heartbeat, almost literally, from suffering badass-John's fate and the difference was his friends. He was lying here feeling crappy because of Jane and Ronon. He was one lucky bastard. He was also still really tired.

"I'm checking out. Carter's orders. You'll be here in the morning?" he managed around a huge yawn.

"We're stuck here just like you," Rodney confirmed. "But the good news is, we'll all be heading back to Atlantis next week."

It took John a minute to process the implication that Rodney was clearly wanting to convey. He kept raising his eyebrows up and down and nodding like _get it? Get it?_

"Wait. All?"

Rodney beamed.

"Yup. I talked with Dr. Klein today. Your brain activity has returned to completely normal. They've kept tabs on it for the past 18 hours and no seizures, no elevated sero-whatsits, and nothing unusual on the EEG. Except for normal hard-headedness, it's as good as new. Except for the concussion and they said you'd have to be careful about that for a while, but that two weeks on light duty on the Daedalus should about take care of it."

Rodney talked so fast that John had trouble keeping up, despite his recently rebooted head.

"I can go...home?" he whispered, finally working through it all and hating Ronon's glance at the heart monitor as the good news overwhelmed him with relief.

"I talked with Klein and Landry about that, too. We figured you'd want to finish your visit with your brother, so, depending on how you're feeling in the next couple of days, Landry's signed off on an Asgard-beam ride for us to visit Maryland for a few days before we head back."

It just got better! Even though Rodney had misunderstood his use of the word _home_, John _did_ want to say goodbye to Dave under better circumstances. And there was a lot he wanted to do with Jane...

Rodney was watching him very closely and the smug smirk returned when John realized the sloppy grin was back all over his face. Until -

"Wait a minute. Ride for _Us_?" he blurted. Rodney's grin went even more smug.

"Of course. We're on leave, too. David invited us to come stay with him anytime, I believe was his choice of phrase."

"Anytime," Ronon repeated, his expression equally smug.

John just grinned. So. They weren't letting him out of their sight. It was kind of sweet. Even if it did mean he'd have to ditch them to see Jane...

"So, since we'll be spending a lot of quality time together, I think I'll call tonight a night, too. It's Salisbury steak in the mess hall. Their chef does it better than ours."

Rodney stood and snatched for his computer, then waited impatiently for Ronon to scoot the chairs back.

"Night, Sheppard. I'll be in the guest quarters if you need me," he said, offering John his presence with a look. John grinned and shrugged it off, no words necessary.

"'Night."

"Do you want me to come tuck in you in, later?" Rodney asked, making the same offer with such an expression of burden that John decided to give the man what he'd asked for. On his own terms.

"No thanks. Wouldn't be the same without Jane. She was _very_ good at tucking me in." He held Rodney's eye for a long moment, then cocked an eyebrow. As he'd expected, when John was actually admitting it, Rodney went annoyed instead of smug.

"She ah, she _tucked you in_ while you were visiting your brother, did she?"

"Only once. Or twice."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh. Well, good for you, then. Goodnight Sheppard. Glad you've been um, well tucked in." Ronon's guffaw was worth it.

John waited until they were just almost out of earshot, then called with as much smugness as he could muster, "Twice!"

* * *

Two days later, John was feeling better than he'd felt in almost a month. The nausea was gone, the weird heaviness was gone. He still had a low-grade headache that got worse when he was tired or exerted himself too much, but it was such a minor pain compared to the skull-splitting connection to another universe, that he hardly noticed.

Dr. Klein and the nursing staff were glad to get rid of him. He and Rodney and Ronon beamed into a secure facility at Andrews and rented a car. Rodney wouldn't let him drive, so John found himself musing over the stores and restaurants and shops along the route back to his childhood home. Like the home itself, most things had changed completely, but there were a few familiar joints here and there.

He found himself walking up to Dave's door happier than he ever thought he could be at this place. He'd changed, too, since his awkward, rebellious teen years. But, like the Navy Blues Tavern, there were still some crusty remnants that refused to die and he decided he was glad.

Dave opened the door at John's knock and John decided he really liked the fact that his brother answered the door himself. As haughty and arrogant as Dave could be, he treated people with respect, even staff, even strangers at the door. Their Dad had reserved his respect only for those he thought had earned it.

John grinned at his brother, then froze in surprise when Dave threw his arms out and pulled John into a fierce hug. John stood there, accepting the embrace with the realization that there was more going on than "hello, nice to see you".

When Dave finally let him go, it was with an affectionate ruffle of his hair and a brotherly punch on the shoulder like they were teenagers again.

"It's...really good to see you alive, John," Dave said, speaking with a quiet bluntness that made John blush.

"Um, me, too," he stammered. "I mean, good to see you, too, Dave. These are my friends, Rodney McKay and you met Ronon at Dad's wake."

"Of course! I met them briefly the other night, too. Come in. I'm sorry things are such a mess," he babbled with a brief wave at the construction crews working around the horse barn. "Between chasing news crews away and chasing down the deals after the fallout in leadership at Enortez Industries, I've been slow in getting the barn cleaned up."

John froze with his foot halfway through the front door. "Deals? Dave, you aren't taking advantage of that mess, are you?"

Dave's face went as cocky as John had ever seen, "Good fishing," he said, and John could only chortle.

"Just don't tick off any gansters this time. I won't be here long enough to save your ass."

Dave suddenly slapped John's shoulder and held on tight, all the gratitude and thanks that needed to be said expressed in the simple gesture.

"You're welcome," John answered firmly, letting his brother know he got it. "Hey, I wondered if you had any plans for dinner?"

"I was thinking about having Marc whip up another 5-Course to celebrate," David answered leading them through the house to the guest rooms. Rodney's eyes went wide with avarice, but John snorted, nixing the idea.

"Maybe tomorrow. I have a better idea," he said, thoroughly enjoying Dave's look of suspicion.

Later that night, John sat back at the grungy table at the Navy Blues Tavern watching his tipsy brother argue with a tipsy Rodney about the stock market and Ronon flirt with the barmaids. Fred the groomer – invited by John – sat chortling at a table of other old horsemen. Life was good.

"Bring ya another round, Colonel?" The bar tender and owner of the joint, an old Navy man himself and proud to have an Officer of John's rank in the bar, had made it a point to wait on them personally.

"Nah, I'm calling it a night. Bring another for my brother, though," he said, feeling full of mischief.

"Yes, sir!"

As Rodney got redder and Dave giggled, John decided that maybe Carter was right after all.

Maybe just being family was _enough_.

* * *

Jane stood in front of her dresser, getting pissed off. What the hell did you wear to meet a guy you'd slept with but hadn't really even been on a date with, yet? She was really rusty at the dating thing, she realized, and with a sigh, she gave up, put on her running clothes and fled her apartment to run her favorite route. The one with fewer obstacles so she could think.

The steady rhythm of her feet finally calmed her enough that she could admit she was just nervous. John had called her a couple of times, once to reassure her that he was alive and to thank her. She'd saved his bacon and he was a gentleman, so she'd expected that much at least. When he'd called the second time to let her know he was coming back to visit his brother for a few days and could he see her, too, her heart had gone skippity skip and she'd only managed to say, "of course, when would be good for you?" without giggling by jamming a pencil into her leg until it hurt.

But, what if they didn't have anything to talk about on a real date? What if he showed up at her door and they stood there making awkward small talk and he decided that she was a goofball and politely excused himself?

By the end of the run, she'd figured out a plan that would save them both embarrassment, give them something they had in common to talk about, and give them time to figure where things should go without pushing him. She just hoped that she could keep her heart rate from giving away what she really wanted. Flashes of John in low-riding sweats and prowling over his kill the night of the ambush kept popping out of her lizard-brain.

Unfortunately, when she jogged up the steps to her apartment door and saw John standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, her whole strategy was blown to hell. He looked, _good_. There was no headache squint, and even though he was idle, his body moved with an easiness, a vibrancy she hadn't seen before – outside chasing down snipers, and assaulting hit squads, that is.

John eventually spotted her a few doors down and his face went so pleased, so genuinely happy, that her lizard brain growled with an insistent plea. She froze, unable to even say, hi. He stepped back, waiting for her to get to the door and she managed to get her feet moving.

"I thought you ditched me," he said playfully.

She gasped and knew her eyes were wide, "Oh, no! I just...lost track of time. I'm so sorry, I'll just..." she fumbled for the key on the spiral around her wrist and realized she didn't have an end to that sentence. _Think, Jane, _she scolded herself. "I thought we might go for a picnic," she stammered trying to get the plan back on track. "I bet your ID can get us in at Canoe U. I haven't been on campus since I retired. It's a nice drive down to Annapolis."

"That sounds nice," John replied, but there was just a hint of disappointment in his tone that made her nervous. Her hands were shaking when she finally got the door open. She just stood there, stuck again, afraid that inviting him in would seem forward.

"I'm, um, sweaty," she blurted. Oops. _Stick to the plan!_ John stepped closer, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

"I noticed," he said. The tickle of his fingertips against her face almost killed her.

"I should take a shower." _Shit! Had that come out presumptuous? Say something, Jane, get back to the plan!_

John's face went soft and sly. And then he was kissing her and wrapping his fingers in her ponytail and she was pressing herself against him, eating him up like a starving stray.

The plan sucked.

"Jane," he whispered, his voice soft and breathless between nibbles at her lips and ear and neck. "I...don't know how to thank you. For my life. For everything."

She leaned back, their hips pressed together, one hand caressing his smooth chin and brushing his lips. "I have some ideas," she murmured.

"Great Sagan, Get a room!" bellowed a voice from the parking lot down below. John went stiff, his face went annoyed. Jane grinned and looked over the rail where a man was leaning on a rental car, his arms crossed and his expression entirely satisfied.

"I'll call you tomorrow, _Rodney_," John growled.

The man chortled, but didn't look like he wanted to miss any of the show, so John grabbed her by the hand, pulled her into her apartment and banged the door shut. She was still grinning, but he was suddenly all business and she was quite busy for the next several minutes.

"About that shower," he teased at last, tugging on her tank top. Jane sighed, happier than she'd been in a long, long time.

As it turned out, they didn't leave the apartment at all.

Fini

_Author's Note: Thanks for all the great comments! I never thought this would quite end up such a high word-count...sorry! But thanks to those who stuck it out to the end..._


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